


Thirst

by Bara_Tiddies



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Barebacking, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Breeding, Come Eating, Come Sharing, Creampie, Deepthroating, Discipline, Dry Humping, Dry Orgasm, Dubious Consent, Dwight kills himself, Erotic Electrostimulation, Evan is not a good man, Face-Fucking, Felching, Fighting, Hand Jobs, Home Invasion, Kidnapping, Light Angst, M/M, Male Solo, Marking, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Sex Positions, Nipple Torture, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Past Murder, Past Rape/Non-con, Prostate Massage, Retardant Jelly as Lube, Rimming, Rough Sex, Somnophilia, Spanking, Suicide, TO ESCAPE, Threats, Throat Fucking, ass eating, bro killers kill each other when in the mood, suicide???, the other characters will be mentioned in passing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2020-01-06 02:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 38,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18379094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bara_Tiddies/pseuds/Bara_Tiddies
Summary: Dwight needs to get his urges under control, lest he ends up hurt.But where's the fun in that?Nowhere.





	1. The happening.

**Author's Note:**

> Dwight craves that dick...

Dwight sat by the fire, twiddling his thumbs. There was some downtime in between the trials and he had nothing to do. Granted, no one had anything to do except sit and stare at the fire or chat with one another. He didn’t feel like chatting, and staring at the fake fire and its weird noises made him feel anxious.

Usually, he and Claudette would talk about everything and anything. They’re best friends. Dwight remembers how she talked about when she once mistook a type of non-edible mushroom for an edible one and promptly vomited afterward. He thought that was hilarious and laughed loudly. Claudette seemed irked but she still had a smirk.

Thinking about that conversation, Dwight is brought out of his thoughts by the sound of movement. He looked to his left and spotted David and Detective Tapp chatting. 

The brash British man is wearing a black tank top and some form-fitting pants. The firelight bounced off of his biceps in a pleasing way. Dwight couldn’t help but slide his gaze down Davids sitting form. His eyes land on the brawler's bulge and he unconsciously licks his lips.

He’s thirsty as fuck.

Dwight feels the low tingle in his loins as warmth starts pooling in his gut. He stops his blatant eye-humping his friend?--(He isn’t sure where he stands with that ripped dude. Especially after that scrap they had. Dick.) Dwight glances down to see his crotch slowly tenting into a noticeable bulge. He turns red in embarrassment and tugs his shirt over it in an attempt to hide it.

He is really thirsty.

Besides chatting and blank staring, Others use sex as a means to pass whatever time is relevant in this hellhole.

He notices the others leaving the fake campfire and head into the forest surrounding them from time to time. Solo or in pairs. Hell, one time it was four people at once! That was something he repeatedly tells himself that he didn’t need to know, but it still is material for his spank-bank.

He had been prompted by others, though he couldn’t go through with it due to his wants.  
He wants to be with someone for a lot longer than a few minutes. He wants to hold hands, as sappy as it sounds, and just have someone to lean into and feel comforted.

So he hasn’t gotten any ass-as Meg would say it. He just resorts to his right hand and his vivid imagination. Nothing that isn’t so revolutionary compared to back home.

It’s sad, but commitment would be nice.

Although... his restraint is waning after countless trials and many, many, MANY deaths.

Dwight stands up, gathers an item that he will indeed need, and quickly rushes to the forest. He gathers a lot more attention than he thought and as cringe-worthy as it is, he doesn’t care. Not right now.

The warmth gets more feverish as it trails down and settles heavily in his balls. His cock is twitching against the confines of his briefs and it ’s tight. Too tight. He stops running when he believes it was far enough from the fire and settles down. 

Dwight pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and hastily unfastens his belts, pops open his button, and slides down the slipper. A moan of relief leaves his mouth as his cock isn’t contained to tightly. How great it felt.

His briefs are pizza-themed and the tent he’s sporting has a dark patch from the pre-come he unabashedly leaked on his journey to bust a nut. He unbuttons his collared shirt and the air surrounding him hits his hot skin. It makes him more feverish. 

Dwight slides a hand up his smooth torso to a nipple and tugs lightly at the bud. He groans, and his dick twitches. The wet patch in the fabric grows bigger as more pre is leaked out.

It's been a while. He hasn’t been this sensitive since his first masturbation session here.

With his other hand, he tugs both his briefs and pants further down his thighs. He finally grasps his dick and another moan, softer this time, comes out in between his pants. He slides his hand from the base to the tip, taking time to spread the precome on the head.

Pleasure tingles throughout his body and his movements get faster and sloppier. The hand that was gently tugging at his sensitive nipples moves away to get the item he brought. Retardant Jelly has been his second best friend. After Claudette of course.

He dips his fingers in, coating them thoroughly, and starts tracing the rim of his ass. The slick sensation of the lavender makeshift lube makes him eager. Damn, wouldn’t it be great to feel something other than his fingers for once? The thought of someone else playing down there for once makes him lust for more.

After teasing his own rim for a while, his breath hitches as a finger manages to get past the tight ring of muscle. They pushed in deeper, and deeper until they hit against a lump. Dwight bit his lips to stop from screaming out in bliss. There it was, his prostate. 

He doesn’t give himself mercy. A slick noise can be heard as he prods and presses against that little clump of nerves and his dick leaks out even more precome in response. Dwight can feel the rapidly approaching orgasm and he continues to stroke his cock in turn with the delicious jabs at his prostate.

Press. A harsh moan leaves his mouth. He was close. So close. He tugs his dick faster.

Another prod and he is coming. Hard. His vision blacks out from the pleasure and he blinks away the black spots. Dwight huffs and he looks at the mess that he made.  
He is covered in sweat and his semen. Chest heaving, and heart pounding with adrenalin. He smiles, eyes feeling heavy with fatigue.

Before he falls asleep, he tidies himself up. Dwight tucks the Jelly away in his pocket and pats himself down for any missed spots.

Deeming himself good, he decides to walk around the surrounding forest to make it seem like he was just taking a stroll. He doubts anyone would believe that. Especially after how fast he left.

So he continues on, none the wise of the figures that had been watching him from afar.


	2. The watchening.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight finna bust ten million nuts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwight: I want affection.  
> Also Dwight: Raw me daddy!!!!

A new survivor arrived at the camp.

He is an older man. Older than Dwight that’s for sure. He’s cocky and good looking. His right hand got replaced with a false hand made of metal. It’s cool. His name is Ashley Joana Williams, though he insists we call him Ash. He’s hot. In the right angle, Dwight could make out the bulge of his dick... 

Fuck he’s drooling. Stupid damn hormones. Fucking fuck.

Dwight wipes the drool off his face. He tries to make his staring less obvious. He and Claudette had been bantering after a round with the Plague--he dry heaves just thinking about her-- and she called out his creepy stares. He was so ashamed that only a choked sound of alarm came out in response.

Claudette laughed hard at his misfortune. He pushed her. She punched him. It was fair. He guessed. From then on, his attempts at making his stares less obvious were self-deemed to be going well.

That is until the older man confronted him. 

“Got a problem four-eyes?” Ash strolls up to him. The man is taller than him. Not by much, but the few inches of height makes Dwight crane his neck up to meet his challenging stare.

His eyes are brown, and Dwight's eye traces the hard edge of his jawline. Dwight swallows.  
“Well?” Ash steps forward. He’s everything Dwight wishes he could be. The charm, the looks, the damn dominance that he exudes is making Dwight weak in the knees. It’s an uphill battle to stay standing. He trudges through.

Quick, act stupid!

“Who’s four eyes?” Dwight spits out, as he presses his glasses up his nose.

Not that stupid.

Ash smirks. Whether it’s at catching Dwight in his staring or his stupidity he doesn’t know. His posture is relaxed and Dwight’s is more hunched in on himself with anxious energy. Damn, he really doesn’t want another David incident.

Dwight clears his throat, stands up a bit straight, and puts on his customer service smile. “I was just wondering if you were doing okay after the trail.” He puts his hands on his hips. “Normally, newcomers panic and end up dying, but you seem to know your way around situations like these.” Great save. He fist pumps in his mind.

Something changes in Ash’s eyes as he regards Dwight with...approval. He hopes it is. He can’t spare any thought of it being anything else. Not when his usual thoughts tend to lean towards his horniness and he can’t have that. No siree. Nope.

Shit, it’s happening and he needs to leave. Like, now!

So being the awkward fuck that he is. He leaves in the middle of the conversation. Just as Ash was about to respond. Who does that? Dwight does apparently.

Damn, why is he so dumb?

~~  
He is three fingers deep in his ass and furiously pumping his dick when he is pulled from his alone time and into a trial.

Great. Fantastic. The Entity just loves him….

Now he could do the more responsible action and clean himself up, find his friends, and finish some generators to escape or…. He can continue his little selfish pleasure journey.

He looks at his leaking cock and it twitches in back in response. Okay then.

The area surrounding him is marshy with tall blades of grass and piers in the distance. Crashed and decrepit boats lay on the ground, and the sound of a generator being completed rings in the distance. The Swamp. Lovely.

With pants still around his ankles, he waddles to the nearby wrecked ship. It’s small and has a chest in its driver port. No generator, so it was just a damaged ship with nothing noteworthy. Perfect.

He rests his upper body on a ledge and arches his back. He reaches back and slides his fingers in. His hole still wet and warm, greedily sucks them in. Dwight huffs, his other hand going back to his neglected cock. He was close. The images of Ash and him in many different scenarios helping him achieve his orgasm.

Dwight just wants. He wants to be filled, to do the filling. Anything and everything in between. Just to stop this ache. The temptation to just chop off his dick in order to stop this insane amount of horniness is large, and it makes his dick release a glob of sticky pre. Huh… freak.

But most of all he wants affection. He is pretty sure light touching and praise would be enough to make him boneless and content. And he is fine with that.

Now, all he cares about is thrusting into his hand like a dog in heat. His whimpers and whines float in the air. At the moment, he pays no mind that there may be someone watching. Someone could be hearing him. If anything his volume gets louder as he insistently jams his prostate, milking himself further.

A high-pitched keen and he is spilling onto the ship around him. Dwight puffs up humid air and slumps onto the ledge further. His legs ache from the combination of his release and standing for too long. His hand lets go of his limp, spent cock; it’s covered in his seed. 

Dwight lifts it to his mouth and licks up the mess. The salty-bitterness a nice refreshing taste compared to the copper from the blood he usually hacks up. He smacks his lips and wipes his hand on his legs. He redresses himself in an orderly fashion. Blissfully unaware.

Patting himself off, Dwight turns and bumps into something solid. And it hits him that he is in a trial. He looks up, and up, to see a pale face mask staring back. Intently. Watching. Stalking. 

Dwight is more embarrassed than horrified. The Shape is in front of him. He was watching Dwight. Watching Dwight’s little show with a creepy-voyeuristic curiosity… His breathing in more heavy and irregular, faster and more eager. Dwight chances a look down, and...yep. The killer is hard. And it appears that it’s in fact big.

Dwight nopes out of there, barely missing the swing of a knife that would have brought him down. He runs and runs. Past the killer shack and other T-walls, and finds the hatch. Michael is closing in, bloodlust making him more eager to kill the survivor. Or he hopes its bloodlust making the taller man faster.

Dwight fakes a jump towards the hatch, Michael swings. It hits home. Dwight cries out in pain but he falls into the hatch as he planned. 

As the inky-black fog surrounds him, he knows he escaped. 

He screams into the void for he is utterly embarrassed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwight needs to drink some Gatorade to quench his thirsty ass.


	3. Baby got BACK!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Entity is a stupid hoe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished half of my major essay.
> 
> Yeet!
> 
> Enjoy this self-beta'd chapter. I'm human, so expect tons of fuck ups.

Dwight’s screams echo in the dark abyss. It’s weird. Going through the hatch is always weird. This in-between space where his sense of direction is derailed and he can’t make up from down. He can, however, feel the sensation of falling. 

He was never a fan of heights.

Luckily, the fog dispersed and the landed on the ground with a grunt. Dwight gets up and sees the others by at the small campfire. He makes his way towards their little area, his thoughts running wildly in his head.

So…. apparently the killers can also feel arousal. The imagery of the Shape and the solidness of his well-built body. His rock hard dick standing proud and demanding attention, only to be denied by the jumpsuit the sociopath was wearing. Dwight wonders if he didn’t move, would the killer ravage him. Force him down and just take him. Make the four-eyed man his and his alone?

Why does that thought seem so, so, SO awesome? Oh no, Dwight is pitching a tent. He swears it’s like his body is on overdrive all the time. He can’t catch a damn break.

He stops, something is tugging at his clothes. Dwight cranes his neck behind him and sees what the source of the tugging is.

It's a black mandible, the kind that always comes when they were about to be fed to the entity. The appendage charcoal black, scales scattered around here and there. It’s nasty. It makes his blood runs cold. Was this it? Is he going to die? Did the entity had enough of him? How is--

RIP!

A swift and hard tug and Dwight’s work shirt is torn to shreds. He yelps loudly, drawing the attention of those at the camp. They look up, watching in shock as their friend is getting…? His clothes torn off?

Claudette is the first to move. She rushes towards him, grasps his forearms tightly and enters a tug-o-war with the entity itself.

“Let go of him you spidery fuck” Dwight feels warmed that she came to his rescue. He is emboldened by her friendship and starts to struggle against the entity. Body instincts coming in naturally from how long he’d been forced into this place.

Jake comes soon after and wraps his arms around Claudette's torso. The former woodsman is strong despite his wiry frame and huge clothing. “What the fuck is happening?” He yells at Dwight. Grunting and pulling. Claudette makes a weird noise in the back of her throat and pulls harder. Dwight wants to laugh but can’t because it’s not the time.

“How the hell should I know.” Dwight flails as his footing slips. “Shi---I came back from the last round, by the hatch, and this just happened.” He steps with them, their combined strength helping him get away from the leg of the Entity.

Riiip!

Dwight hears that and sees that both his pants and underwear tearing at the seams. His ass was almost visible through the tiny tears of fabric. His eyes widen behind his glasses. Oh, fuck! His fucking ass was about the be bared to everyone!!

“Guys wa--!” 

He tried to stop, but both sides were determined. Dwight is convinced that this was payback for some shit he pulled in the past. Damn it, shouldn’t have been such an ass.

His pants, and underwear, ripped into tiny pieces. They faded into pieces of black char and were swept away by the entity. The momentum flung Dwight straight into Claudette, who shrieks in surprise and they both land on Jake. The man lets out a grunt in surprise.

Dwight quickly got up and began checking on both his friends. His current issue ignored for the health of his friends. 

“I'm sorry. Are you guys okay?” The naked man swarms around them, concern palpable. Patting them for injuries, and finding only light scratches. He deems them to be okay. He backs off with a sigh, happy to see his friends not injured badly.

“Um...Dwight” Claudette begins. She turns away, a light red covering her dark cheeks. Jake just stares, his mouth slightly open. His cheeks are also pink.

Dwight's eyebrow raises in confusion. Some giggles and a couple of wolf whistles cut through the air. He snaps his head to the cause of the noises.  
All his fellow survivors are staring. Their eyes seem to be roving beneath his head. And it hits him.

HE'S NAKED! BUCK ASS NAKED AS THE DAY HE WAS BORN!

Dwight lets out a manly screech (It is and no one can change his mind) and covers his bare flaccid dick. He is red with embarrassment. The color surrounds his whole face. It bleeds down to the upper part of his chest.

This is fucking humiliating.

He can’t force himself to look at their faces. He feels their eyes on his skin. He can’t stand it. It’s high school all over. He needs to leave. Needs to be away and leave with whatever dignity he has left.

Dwight runs off into the forest. His eyes sting, tears crowed the edge of his eyes. Fuck the Entity.

“Dwight wai--” Claudette reaches out. Jake puts a hand on her shoulder. He shakes his head.

“Leave him. I know I would want to be out of everyone’s sight.” He stares at where he last saw Dwight flee, his skin making him stand out. The naked man’s figure disappears within the surrounding thick forest.

\---

Dwight stops when he feels like he’s gone far enough. He begins pacing, biting his nails anxiously. He ponders about what happened.

The Entity decided to appear out of nowhere. It tore his clothes off, he was bare to everyone's eyes. He tried to access his little stash of clothing each survivor was granted. Nothing. No hoodie, sweater, polo shirt. No nothing. It was gone. Like it wasn’t there to begin with.

Fuck, that was…. Sooo bad. Why him? What did he do? What did it want from him? Did it enjoy humiliating him? He sure as hell didn’t.

A loud thump and Dwight swiftly turns around. A box. What was a box doing out here? He would have known about this from the others. Surely this would’ve been the talk of the whole site. He steps towards it, curiosity clearing any other emotion.

The box was worn, there were holes in some areas, and the duck tape peeled off in others. There was a name on a card placed on top of this mysterious box. Dwight picked it up and reads it:

 

‘Dwight’

 

The letter was nearly illegible, the chicken scratches made him squint his eyes to make out each letter. It was for him.

He opens the box. He backs up thinking something horrible would pop up. When nothing happened, he takes a look inside and sees...clothing?

Dwight reaches in and pulls out each article, it's a full set. A white muscle shirt, some red shorts, and a hat. Weird, but he is not complaining.

It’s when he puts on the shorts that he realizes the clothing is a little form-fitting. And by little, he means the clothes are hugging him tightly! The shirt keeps riding up his stomach every time he breathes, baring his tummy to the open air. The shorts. The fucking shorts are TOO short that they end at his upper thighs. It hugs his junks and ass. Said ass is peeking out from the rim of the shorts, and every time he tries to lift the shorts up, it snags on his balls and makes him wince in pain. Not only is everything so provocatively snug, but also he has no underwear whatsoever. He can see the outline of his cock. Why? Why Entity, why?

The last accessory he has is a hat. A plain grey hat. He slowly puts it on, preferring to wear it backward. Overall he feels slutty, and a part of him likes this look. But that part is smothered, drowned, and flayed alive. Its remains are buried so far under because Dwight curses his bad luck.

“MOTHERFUCKER”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I knew how to embed photos, I would so you guys could have a clear picture on what exactly Dwight is wearing. I hope I did it justice.


	4. The confrontationing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What can you do when you're stressed? Bust a nut!
> 
> But be mindful of where you are!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A test is on the horizon and I am drowning in stress because I failed my last one!
> 
> *INHUMANE MONKEY SCREECHES*
> 
> d  
> o
> 
> m  
> e
> 
> a
> 
> s  
> l  
> e  
> e  
> p  
> !

It has been a while now. Dwight is resting against one of the many identical trees, and he couldn’t tell how long he was in the forest: hiding. The Entity’s realm was weird and time was non-existent. He could’ve been gone for an hour, maybe five.

But that is beside the point.

He can’t decide whether this mockery of clothes was worse than being naked. They’re practically one of the same. The four-eyed man slid his hands over his exposed stomach, his head humming in anxious energy.

Walk out naked, or walk out scantily clothed. Which poison is better? Dwight doesn’t know. In all honesty, he feels like not existing for a few more hours.

His right hand went lower, a weight over his crotch. His cock chubs up. Seems like his energy is going elsewhere. The hand shifts, it rubs harder. Heat pools in his abdomen.

Might as well relax. Too much thinking is bad for people like him.

Dwight wants to savor this, he deserves a slow wind-down. He tilts his head back, the hat’s visor blocks him from resting on the tree. He turns it so the visor is tilted sideways; it hides his eyes.

The shorts are once again embarrassingly tight, his erection is more prominent now compared to how his last pants used to hide it so well. A pleasant swirl adds to the building heat, he hums low in his throat.

Dwight imagines someone else's hands. Large. Calloused. Hands that can hurt, but can also please. They would grope his chest, greedy. Possessive. Caring. Loving.

He huffs and bites his lips. The hands would pull down his clothes, exposing him to the open air. His dick would stand proud, happy to be released. The hands are coy, teasing him. But he wouldn’t cry out as much as he wants to. He can be a good boy.

They would avoid his aching cock. These hands are like hot irons, every touch is seared into his skin. Marking him. Claiming him. His hips thrust forward and a whine escapes his throat. Yes, claim him. Make him theirs. Belonging to someone makes his dick leak more.

A voice, low and heavy with desire, whispers in his ears. “You’re such a prize” He shivers at the thought and groans. The heat is reaching its peak.

A face comes out of his hazy filled thoughts. It takes multiple shapes. 

Ash. David. Jeff. Trapper. Michael.

“Come for me.” The voice says. Commanding. Caring. Dominating.

He obeys, a name leaving his plush lips. “Michael…” His hips pushing up into his hand as cum splatters against his body. Some manage to get on his face and he licks it up without a second thought.

Dwight's heart stops hammering from the session, his breathing calms down as well. His body is numb, but it’s a good type of numb. His head is clear. For once.

He stares above at the tree line, sweat and cum lingering on his body. The skyline has no stars even when it appears to be dusk. That’s what he hates about this place. The thing tries so hard to give a sense of comfort when all it does is cause unrest.

Dwight sits up and begins the same routine of cleaning himself. First the stomach, then chest. And lastly the face. He takes a glance at the small clearing he decides would house this masturbation session. He spots a figure in the distance. He freezes in place. Fear crawls up his spine. And right when he was having a good time too.

It’s close. He didn’t hear it, whatever it was. The tall figure notices it’s been caught. It walks forward. The pace is slow and tactful. Like a predator stalking their prey. It’s broad shoulders make an already intimidating figure worse. It steps out of the shows of the trees and into the light.

A mask with a malicious grin stares at him. The Trapper. He was watching Dwight.

The eyes beneath the mask pin Dwight right on the spot. He cowers on instinct. The Trapper was the first killer here like them. Although he didn’t have any powers, his ruthlessness was well known by the others. Especially his traps. Damn those things.

Dread ties his stomach in knots. He didn’t know they could come across the killers! This is terrifying, he could have been killed in the act and could’ve done nothing. Ignorance is bliss they always say. Though, he thinks it probably doesn’t apply here.

The Trapper stops a few feet in front of Dwight. His breathing audible even from the distance and Dwight shivers. The air is thick with tension as they continue the foreboding staring contest. Dwight is twitching in nerves while the Trapper is more calm with barely contained eagerness.

Why is that so hot? Why can’t he stop thinking with his dick!

The silence is broken when the Trapper speaks. HE CAN SPEAK! WHAT?!!

“Boy,” The accent is deep and accented. It sounds different from how his dialect is. “You shouldn’t be doing the things you do in the open.” The words are strong and loud. Something Dwight tries to be.

Dwight takes a cautionary step back, he gulps nervously. The Trapper follows the movement of his throat and follows him. Dwight needs to leave, but he can’t lead the killer to where everyone. His eyes dart across the clear, so focused on finding a chance of escape he almost missed what the killer says next.

“Next time I see you like that,” The Trapper clenches his massive hands. The hands that killed him and his friends countless times. He steps closer. Dwight falls back on his ass in shock. He looks like he’s restraining himself. With what, Dwight doesn’t know. So tall and dangerous. “You won’t make it back to your friends.”

The threat is there. The Trapper would absolutely go through with it. Dwight wouldn’t be able to stop it. Not here. There are no laws to prevent a murder in this realm. Even with the lone detective, they’re completely helpless.

“Do I make myself clear, Boy?” He’s invading Dwight's space. His heartbeat is almost drowning out everything else. Dwight can only nod in agreement. There are worse things than death.

“Answer me, be a man.” The trapper growls at the younger man cowering beneath him. It stirs something within him. There’s heat pooling.

“Yes, sir”

“Good.” The Trapper turns and walks back from wherever the hell he came from. He gets to the treeline then turns his head to look at Dwight. They make eye contact one last time. The killer leaves. It was like he wasn’t there. No noise, no fog, just gone. 

Dwight sags in relief when the big hunkering mass of the man is gone. So many things are fuzzing up his mind. Killers can speak. They can come to their safe haven. He was threatened. What entails of the threat Dwight doesn’t know.

Fuck. It.

Picking himself up, Dwight shambles to the campsite. His clothing the furthest thing from his mind. He needs to talk to Claudette. Someone he can trust to talk about this.

The walking back is filled with an oppressive silence.

Nowhere is safe for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue can't do I
> 
>  
> 
> Also accents too, like who the fuck am I?  
> lol!
> 
> Small edit: Adam is a teacher. Not a detective, silly! owo


	5. What can we do?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heres *AGGRESSIVE TAPPING* the motherfucking *HOUSE SHAKE, SCREAMS CAN BE HEARD IN THE DISTANCE* TEA!! *THE WORLD EXPLODES*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claudette P.O.V, I thought it would be nice to see what is happening from a different perspective.
> 
> Yay or nay?

Claudette's hands had fresh blood from a recent trial she went through. She was the only one who survived that round. The killer had been the Legion. With their deep wounds inflicted upon her fellow survivors, most of them collapsed due to blood loss; yet she took her time and manage to curb stomp the impulse to wilt and pushed forward. And she escaped.

She likes to patch up her friends, it gives her something to do and it is calming in a morbid way.

A stitch here, a gauze there. Pack up the whatever type of wound and wrap some bandages around it then: BAM! All healed up.

Ever since she came down into this...whatever this place was. Hell? Purgatory? Limbo? She didn’t know anything, and that was what scares her. Will she be able to escape for real? Are her parents worrying about her?

There are so many questions and not enough answers in this world. She found some papers by another survivor that was here before them, but all they contain are ramblings. Incomprehensible. Even for a scientist like her.

All she can do is focus on the present, like how Dwight had been attacked by the Entity. Well, she says attack but it seemed to be something else. Claudette had never witnessed anything like it. Killing, yes. Hooking, yes. Hell, even sacrificing were all the things she didn’t ever wanted to see but still did.

But blatant….humiliation? That was new.

But that’s beside the point. Why would the Entity do that? And to Dwight of all survivors. David she could see, Nea and Ace as well. As much as she cherishes her friends, they can be rather frank and it ruffles her feathers. But she is kind and forgiving. For the most part.

She still doesn’t regret sucker punching David. Especially when he attacked Dwight after he was trying to be helpful. Like who does that?

So, with the blood being caked on her fingers, she watches the forest line. Awaiting for Dwight to come back, she has a jacket for him. Although it’s a women’s jacket, she thinks it’s better than being naked.

Footsteps approach her, and she looks to see Jake sitting beside her. They sit in silence. Watching. Waiting. That’s all they can do. They had tried to go in after Dwight but it was like the Entity didn’t want anyone disturbing him, as thoughtful as it may be.

After a few moments, Jake speaks up. “So, do you think he’ll be back soon?” He doesn’t look at her, but she can see his eyebrows furrowing in concern for their friend.

Claudette shrugs even though he is not looking at her. “I honestly don’t know.” She flicks off the old dried blood on her hands. She scrunches up her face in disgust. She never liked blood.

“Well, I wanted to give him this.” Jake pulls up a pair of items of clothing. That was really thoughtful of him.

“That’s really sweet of you, Jakey-pie” She sing-songs.

“...” He doesn’t answer her. She seems to be the only one who can call him that without him reacting horribly. Well as horribly as he can be.

Dwight seems to be the exception too. Him more so than her. She has seen the way Jake looks at the four-eyed man. It’s quite cute. In a little awkward way, they both are known for. Though Jake has problems communicating to Dwight and Dwight is… well, Dwight. 

“Whatcha thinkin ‘bout?” She hedges. Teasing Jake is another fun past time. He either responds well or just blocks off the teasing like a stone wall. He tenses, her eyes narrow. Gotcha!

“It couldn’t be Dwight’s naked body, now could it?” His face reddens and she smiles like the cat who caught the canary.

“Now that I mentioned it...he looked like he had a tattoo on his ass.” She points out, smirking at how Jake is getting even redder. WOW! He gots it hard. But what about David… didn’t he go with him to fool around? She nods more to herself than him. Yea she saw him with David when they were with two other girls. She thinks it was Meg and Kate. Oooo. Spicy.

“Claudette..what--” He begins only to stop as there was loud rustling in the woods in front of them.

Out comes a figure running straight at them. Claudette yelps and jumps back, Jake gets up in front of her. 

It’s Dwight!

And oh my god what is he wearing!!!

“What are you wearing!!” She yells, pointing at him. He’s not naked anymore that’s for sure. But the clothes. They’re so suggestive, so much so she can see the outline of his---NO! NO!!!

Bad eyes. BAD.

Dwight stops to reclaim his breath. He is bent over, resting his hands on his thighs. She sees things that she shouldn’t have, and she tries to focus on anything else. Like how he’s back.

“Are you okay?” Claudette walks up to him and places her hand on his shoulder. He has a hat and it’s crooked. She adjusts it for him. “Why were you running”

“I---He--Threat!” All that she can hear is jumbled up words in between pants, so she drags him to sit down with her. There she waits patiently, and finally rubs off all the blood off her hands. 

Jake sits besides Dwight, he eyes can’t seem to leave him and she snaps her fingers at his face. That makes him reset himself, while also giving Dwight the prompt to continue.

“After I went to the forest. I….wandered around to kill some time.” He pauses in between that statement and she wonders what exactly did he do. But to each their own. “It was then I ran into the Trapper.”

What?

Fear coils in her gut and she notices Jake tensing up. That was bad. Like very bad! The forest was a safe haven. Well was. Is there truly no safe space for them?

What can they do? They need to tell the others.

Dwight is watching her, his eyes hold something in them that she can’t decipher. She will question him about it later. Right now it was only fair to tell the others.

“We have to warn the others.” She stands and begins to make her way to the campfire where everyone was idling. Some spare some glances at her but continue on with whatever they were doing.

Dwight is right behind her. He fully agrees on telling them, hoping that no one has to deal with other killers. Surviving against them in the trials is more than enough. He stands behind her, out of sight. He still is quite shy about his new outfit.

“Guys!” Her voice carries out to everyone. It’s urgent and many are smart to pick up on the panic in her voice. She stares at each person she has come to known and feels protectiveness swell up in her chest. “If you go out into the forest be careful: the killers are there too”

All at once the ease in the environment disappears. Many look at her in shock others look fearful. There is a handful who are angry. It’s understandable. 

Now to deal with the discourse afterward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it isn't clear yet, I haven't decided where to go with this fic. All I know is Dwight finna get his Busssy DEMOLISHED!


	6. The fuckening.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David slides into them DM's.
> 
> ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm.

“Oi, Dwight,” David’s slings his thick, hard muscular arm around Dwight’s shoulders. Dwight shivers at the contact, his cock twitches in interest. David smirks, he definitely saw that eager twitch. The brawler's arm tightens and brings the man closer. The heat between them is sweltering. “Ya’ sure you don’t want a hand, mate?”

Dwight swallows. 

“David, I’m fine.” Dwight attempts to move Davids' arm. It’s so well developed. When Dwight squeezes David flexes and.. Nope. He squirms and manages to dislodge Davids' arm and gives a respectable amount of space between them. No more thoughts on how other parts of David might be well sculpted. Or if he is a grower or shower. 

Damn, he is pent up.

“So,” Dwight starts after a heavy tense silence. He isn’t looking at the man in front of him. “What was the reason you wanted to go in the forest again?”

It had been about three weeks since the reveal of the killers lurking around in the forest. One would think that’s good enough reason to avoid going, but not for his friends. Certainly not for him either.

A buddy system was set up. At first, it was groups of four, but it dwindled into pairs as time went on and when there weren’t any sightings. The solution was a good fix for the paranoia in the beginning, but Dwight couldn’t be bothered. Especially when he couldn’t go off on his own to touch himself.

Dwight crosses his arms as he waits for David to explain. He had a feeling that the brawler wanted to pair up with him for something else. With how touchy the man is being, he came to the assumption that David wants to get frisky with him. Arousing as the thought is, he doesn’t want a quick fuck. Something David is quite known for.

David smirks at him. It's lecherous in nature, and that shouldn’t make Dwight excited. He puts his hands over his crotch to give himself some privacy. These stupid clothes make everything difficult. 

David swaggers up to him and places his hands on Dwight's hips. Like his hands belong there. Like he owns Dwight. He rubs the skin there, teasingly dipping them in the shorts. The warmth his hand brings makes Dwight huff. Fuck, it feels really good to have someone other than himself touch his body. Just a little lower... His cock gets to full mast quickly, precome leaking and staining the red shorts. Fuck. Stupid jocks. Stupid attractive fuckable jocks.

“You know why mate,” He says huskily. David slots his leg between Dwight's own, and grinds it against the clothed cock. Dwight lets out a moan and he feels Davids arms around him. “With how you look, it’s hard for me to resist” 

David shifts Dwight so that his backside presses up against his front, his hands move from his hips to grope at his chest and crotch respectively.

“W-wait!” Dwight lets out a lewd sound, and then he smacks his hands to his mouth to muffle the amazing sounds. His face is a deep shade of red, from embarrassment most likely. But David has a hunch that Dwight is red from being approached so boldly. He has been wanting this. Who wouldn’t wanna lay with him? Prolly some prudes, or teases. Like Dwight had been. Ever since the nerd came out of the forest looking like sex on legs, it is like everyone decided they want to mess around with him. Now he gets him for the moment, and he doesn’t want to let go.

David mouths wetly on the base of Dwight's neck. The spots bloom into purple marks and something possessive stirs within him. He wants the others at the camp to see who finally got lucky enough to have Dwight at their mercy. Maybe then, Kate wouldn’t be so indifferent when he slept around with other people.

Dwight starts to grind into the hand palming his hardon. This is everything he wanted. Being hold, and being granted pleasure. The mouth leaving marks. Claiming him. Owning him. When David twists Dwight’s nipple harshly, the man whines. It’s so needy. All of his sexual urges are boiling up. He deserves this, he thinks.

“You know mate,” David slowly shifts the hand on the shorter males pecs down to his navel. He loops the hand around and starts firmly kneading the man's ass cheeks. “ You could’ve had this a long time ago.” He nibbles on Dwight’s ears, blowing on it just to see the man shiver. Dwight grinds harder into his hand. He had removed his hands from his face a short while ago, now his sounds are being released into the open air. This man is so needy. Definitely needs a good hard pounding.

“Didn’t have to sneak around and pleasure yourself all alone,” David smirks as Dwight tenses in his embrace. He had been watching Dwight recently, and boy was it truly a sight. This man isn’t very bright and didn’t notice when someone followed him. To watch him in a place where he is so vulnerable. So hot. It took David all of his self-control not to interrupt and fuck the man seven ways from Sunday. 

“David...hold on..” Having the fact stated that he wasn’t truly secluded snaps him awake from his aroused state he was in, Dwight is starting to realize that they shouldn’t be doing this right now, not with the killers out there. Not with...HIM watching and waiting. Plus, Dwight didn’t want to be a one night stand either. He squirms in the hold David has on him, only for David to cling tighter and press more weight onto him. “Dude, What if a killer comes?” He says. What if the Trapper comes? What's gonna happen then? He doesn’t want to find out.

“No mither, little doll,” Dwight blushes at the endearment. David starts to grind harshly onto Dwight’s ass. Dwight squeaks and tries prying the well built and strong arms. Damn, he is built. David mistakes it as further encouragement and began humping Dwight in earnest. They fall onto the ground, Dwight on his face with his ass up, and David behind him; continuing his thrusting. Dwight felt the head of his cock prod against his hole and he gasps. Is it really that bad to just give in? Just this once? Just to release and forget?

Yes. No. He doesn’t know.

David certainly doesn’t wait for him to make up his damn mind. He presses in and the cockhead gets swallowed up by the tight ring of muscle. Dwight breath is knocked out of him. This is happening too fast. It’s good, yet it’s not. 

David lets loose a groan, loud and appreciative. “Always knew you would have a tight ass.” He slurs into Dwight's ears, the lust is clouding his mind. All he wants is to fuck Dwight into the ground, and that’s what he is going to do. He starts a punishing pace.

Dwight moans as David begins to pound harshly into him. This is what he wanted, wasn’t it? To be fucked. Hard and rough. Right? 

A thrust and Dwight keens. David managed to reach his prostate and everything from then on felt fucking good. He lets go and slumps into the ground. His hips push back with every pleasure filled thrust. His mouth opens and drool starts to drip out, making a puddle on the forest floor. Another hit to his prostate and he can feel the tension behind his ball-sack, the build-up, and he wants the release. Dwight slides a hand to his neglected, weeping cock and begins to stroke himself in tandem with David’s thrusts. He is so close.

David bites Dwight’s shoulder hard, the pain pushes Dwight over the edge and he spills onto the dirt. He can feel Davids cock twitch inside him, swelling up before he cums inside of him. The warmth feels so good. Fuck why didn’t he agreed to this before?

David slips out of Dwight with a squelch and he watches his seed dribble out. It’s so hot. Not to mention how Dwight’s face was in bliss, He smirks at that. Dwight’s hole twitches and David feels his cock twitch in sympathy. But he had other things to go to. Like messing around with Kate. The brawler gets up off the ground, and fasten his pants. He turns and with one last parting look at the fucked out nerd, he leaves.

Dwight gets out of his orgasmic haze. He sits up, and he looks around for David. When he sees that he is nowhere, he lets out a sigh. Disappointed. Sad.

Of course,

That's why he didn’t do hookups.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut in my mind: Raunchy, filthy, and so so SO fucking hot.
> 
> Smut as I write it: egg.
> 
>  
> 
> I would like to improve at writing people fucking. I don't want to win the award of a bad sex scene in literature.


	7. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight and anger don't mix. Or do they?

His luck isn’t getting any better. After-shamefully might he add-crying in the forest, Dwight made the choice in avoiding David. The man only used him as a means of release and had the audacity to skip out on aftercare. Not only that but leaving him ALONE in the forest? Like What the hell? There was a buddy system for a reason. Goes to show his one track mind. Fucking stupid idiot. Stupid attractive idiot. 

The sex was good, it really put all his masturbation sessions to shame. But...if sex is meant to be good, then why did he feel sad.

Whatever. Just avoid the hot as fuck man. There are plenty of other hot as fuck men around the campfire. Like Jeff. And Ash.

…

His first time was casual, like an everyday transaction. And maybe it is because of that thought, his heart aches. He doesn’t want to focus on this anymore, so he clenches his fist and becomes determined. Fuck this place, fuck assholes like David. He will get out, and he will find someone. He has to.

The fog swallows Dwight just as he found a cabin in the thickets of the forest. All he saw was it had looked to be run down. Similar to the one found in the trials. Well, he will deal with that when this trial is done.

Dwight is dropped into Lery’s Memorial Institute and he hates it. The walls give him a sense of restriction and the number of doorways that interconnect every hallway and room together provides no proper hiding spot for any of them. This place just screams torture, and the echoing cries of terror and pain coming from the monitors in the center of this building further pushes that notion. He remembers being haunted by the screams of the damned in previous trials. There were times where he couldn’t even have any shut-eye because of the screams keeping him up. Now he is indifferent to them.

Dwight decides to forsake his usual routine of finding the others, repairing gens, and hiding in lockers. No. He is still pissed and wants to let out some frustration. Sure, he can’t actually harm the killers like how they do to them, what with his pathetic noodle arms and overall weak spineless demeanor, but he can run them around and slam pallets in their faces.

He runs in a direction, mainly towards the study that is present in every minute rendition of this place. Dwight passes incomplete generators and multitudes of I.V.-themed hooks and leads a blazing red trail pointing any killer to his direction. He hopes no one is in the area he’s booking it to, it would suck to be the reason for his teammates to be caught and hooked.

The study is empty and filled with books. There are some on the floor in piles and others are tipping dangerously over the bookshelves. They seem to be indecisive about falling. In the middle is the desk with a name plaque. It’s indecipherable. But his main focus is the chair. That is where his butt will be seated as he waits for whatever deranged killer comes. 

Dwight makes as much noise as possible. He vaults the window nearby until The Entity is sick of his bullshit and blocks him for doing it anymore. He kicks the wall in retaliation and hisses in pain for his own stupidity. 

Dwight plops himself on the comfortable seat. Seriously, it’s unfair how they only get to sit on the log or the hard earth. He waits, and he waits. He grunts in frustration. Where the hell is the killer?! He kicks his feet on the desk. So disrespectful. Then he hears it.

The erratic thumping of a heartbeat. It’s not his, but it makes his own beat in tandem. The fear creeping in his mind almost makes him second guess himself. However, he stays firm in his decision. The beat is increasing in pitch, getting louder and overbearing. But he’s done this song and dance countless times and the fear from earlier turns into anger and it just riles him up. Dwight taps his fingers impatiently on his arms.

There. Fucking, finally!

The killer is The Doctor. It’s fitting. This place did come when this insane bastard showed up. The tall dark man wearing the lab coat stops as he sees the survivor sitting there. He tilts his head curiously, his erratic breathing is loud and obnoxious. Dwight feels the telltale sign of madness creeping up his spine. The Doctor eyes rake over his scantily clothed form, it makes Dwight’s ears turn red, but it doesn’t bother him much. Those manic eyes don’t stop roaming the displayed body until they both make eye contact. Dwight raises an unimpressed eyebrow, his anger is really a deterrent for his usual anxious self now. He kinda likes it.

Dwight licks his lips, The Doctor follows the movement hungrily. The breathing gets faster, and the pitch lowers. He hunches over more slightly and his form still towers over Dwight. Dwight does something stupid.

A rash impulsive desire leads to him flipping off the killer and dashing away. He hears the killer after him, his obnoxious laughter fills his head and he hears the distinct humming of electricity spreading and overcoming his body. He screams, but it’s not in agony like usual. The tingling hot specks of electricity light his body in pleasure makes him release a moan. He stutters in his run because that has never happened before, and with a vault over a nearby window, he takes his added boost of speed and gets out of the killer's line of sight. The killer is still close by and he can feel the electricity roam across his body. The prickly sensation is good, weird but good, and he doesn’t like that he moans out again. The Doctor this time is right behind him and sends another pleasurable shockwave out to him. It covers his whole body and his cock reaches full mast right away. His cheeks flush with arousal that is rapidly building. 

Dwight gets smacked with the spiked metal bat, and more pleasure fills up his damaged body. He whines at the sensitivity, his body is on fire. It jerks every so often and more electricity roams over him leaving trails of pleasure in his wake. Shit, he needs to get out.

Three gens pop at once and he is glad his teammates decided to work on separate generators. Dwight heads to the nearest pallet, the killer is hot on his heels. He can feel the warm excited breathing puff against the nape of his neck, it makes him jerk as another arc of electricity traces over his nipple. He bites his tongue and slams the pallet down. It hits home loud and hard. The Doctor giggles happily, Dwight’s anger feels slightly quenched underneath the arousal.

Another loud ding signals the fourth generator has been completed. Only one left to go and he then can beat his aching meat in the forest. 

The Doctor continues after him, and Dwight feels a little bit concerned, but he pushes it aside and continues running. He turns the corner and looks back to see that the killer isn’t behind. Where the fuck? Dwight slows and that's another mistake.

A swift smack and Dwight is on the floor moaning in confusion. The Doctor was in front of him. The fucker went around. Stupid Institution, stupid killer, stupid fucking David. Dwight is at the mercy of the killer, yet this feels different than the other times. The Doctor wide forced smile is stretched even further, his eyes shine in delight. The bigger man kneels over Dwight and places his hands on the survivor. They roam and more electricity is flooded into Dwight, it lights up all his pleasure receptors and Dwight wriggles in ecstasy. So much pleasure. So good. Dwight grunts and he grinds up into The Doctor's leg like a dog in heat. Drool drips down his mouth and he hears a deep chuckle, different from the manic giggles. It makes the heat build into a firestorm and with a slight brush over his restricted dick, he cums hard. Dwight blanks out for minutes, or hours whatever it is in this hell hole. 

When he comes back, the electricity is still running in arcs over his body, lighting up his fried nerves. Dwight whines. He’s very sensitive and The Doctor giggles normally. He needs to get up, and he needs to get the fuck away. But he can’t. His arms and legs are like jello. It doesn’t help that the bastard keeps flooding that delicious electricity into him. 

Ding! and the final generator is done. Adrenaline rushes through his system and Dwight is up quickly, spooking the killer, he uses this chance and runs away. His shorts feel sticky and uncomfortable and gross.

By the time he makes it a near exit gate its open and he sags in relief. He crosses to the outside and turns back to make sure any others are there. The Doctor is there instead. Watching him. He took off the metal clamps on his face. It’s a surprisingly normal face when it isn’t forced into an unpleasant smile. He smirks at Dwight, it's very lewd and Dwight sticks his tongue out to tempt the devil. He leaves before anything bad could happen to him. He shudders once more as The Doctor sent out a sliver of electricity at him.

Now, he needs to clean his creamed shorts. Very gross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typical mistakes are to be expected. I'll fix them if you spot them.
> 
> >:3


	8. Home invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight needs to curb stomp his curiosity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ding-dong-ditching is a lesser evil compared to invading someone's home. They both involve going to a strangers house and possibly invoking the wrath of said stranger. However, one is a blatant crime while the other is just harassment. 
> 
> Don't be Dwight.

“Ugh, gross.” Dwight's nose twists in disgust as he pulls off his crusted shorts. The semen is flaky and it attaches to his crotch hairs, causing a tingle of pain when he manages to pull the dirtied undergarment. Now, as he stands in the forest alone and naked, how is he going to clean it? He didn’t die, so his clothes didn’t come back brand new like how they usually do. He doesn’t want to die anytime soon that's for sure, and he doesn’t want to stroll around naked either. That would be demeaning. 

If only The Entity was competent enough to try and simulate any nearby water sources. That would be nice, and swimming sounds good about now. Especially with all the blood of his past deaths and his friends. It can be so heavy when he thinks about it sometimes. A dip sounds really nice. Not to mention, his booty shorts would be cleaned. 

Dwight sighs and brings his shorts up to his face. When he peers at them, the spot isn’t that noticeable unless someone were to look hard enough. Nobody should notice it. Right? Nobody does what he does and stares at others crotches. He hopes so at least.

With that in mind, Dwight rubs off the remaining flakes of cum and puts the shorts back on. The way they hug his ass and cup his junk is familiar and the cool forest air doesn’t affect his lower half anymore. Grateful to not be naked once again, he walks onwards. He remembered how he came across the shack in the woods and decides it is worth a look.

…

Now that he looks at it, the shack isn’t exactly a shack. From afar it looked small, unnoticeable even. The thick forest and long patches of grass help in that aspect. As he stands before it, Dwight surprisingly discovers that it's huge. Granted, all buildings are big, but this is a two story house. Who lives here? Going against all his instincts, Dwight goes in only to have the door not open. It’s locked. That makes sense...he guessed. He jiggles the doorknob again to make sure. It remains unchanged just like he thought, and he walks towards a nearby window to his right. It opens without a squeak and whoever lived here was either in a rush or plain forgetful. He climbs in.

He is in what he thinks is the living room. The furniture is old in style and there isn’t a television like he would expect. He walks past the kitchen and sees a large spiraling staircase leading to the upper floor. Already in this deep, Dwight goes on to explore. The stairs groan and shift in protest as he makes his way up. It freaks him out, he doesn’t like heights and doesn’t want to fall. Arriving at the top, he sees a hallway leading to what he suspects is the bedrooms. He picks one at random, it won’t really matter what order he goes in. All will be explored. No corners left untouched.

As he opens the door, something falls down on him. He screams, loud and shrill. He fumbles forward and trips over the item. He falls on his face. Damn, that hurts. Dwight gets up and feels his nose. Blood drips onto his fingertips and flows down his face. His eyes look to see what caused all of this: It was a mask.

A wooden mask whittled into a vague resemblance of a deer. Hold up a minute. He knows that mask. Dwight knows who’s the owner. He needs to leave. Like. NOW.

With the mask in hand--like he is going to miss the opportunity to have a keepsake--he opens the door and makes his way downstairs.

The front door handle jiggles. 

Dwight stops cold in his tracks. Oh fuck.

He manages to back up the stairs just in time to see the towering man himself open the door. The Trapper's frame doesn’t fit in the doorway, he has to bend down just to get in, and when he stands back to his height, his head is almost touching the ceiling. His overalls are stained with fresh blood, so is his weapon. It drips the scarlet liquid on the floor but the monster of a man doesn’t seem to care. The killer glances around his house and sighs. He sounds tired. Exhausted even. Weird.

The Trapper steps further into his home, and Dwight backs up to the railing. His eyes won’t stop staring at the man and all of his bulk. His eyes roam over the muscled figure, to the thick swole arms that showcase so much strength. He has been killed by those. He has been held against his will by them. On the broad shoulders that tense with rippling muscles beneath him. Dwight starts drooling as his eyesight drifts to the killer's crotch. Is it big? Or is the anger coming from inadequacy? He wipes the drool from his face. Damn, stop being such a horndog!

The Trapper stops abruptly. Dwight tenses. The killer stares at the window he left open in his journey. The killer clenches his weapon in hand and begins prowling his own home.

Dwight panics. He needs to leave. But he can’t go downstairs or… He doesn’t know what The Trapper will do. His warning to Dwight rings in his head.

The Man makes his way to the stairwell, Dwight shuffles back. He needs to hide. Dwight goes to the room he was previously in and frantically looks for someplace that won’t be too obvious. There is a bed, a closet, and a big dresser. A simple bedroom with bedroom type of things. He crawls under the bed and it’s cluttered: articles of clothing and miscellaneous items that have been shoved haphazardly. It’s musky down here, but beggars can’t be choosers. He can hear those thunderous footsteps making their way to the upper level. Dwight moves these items in front and around his body in an attempt to make him harder to spot. He waits. The smell is strong as a piece of clothing lays across his face and the urge to sneeze is making his eyes water.

The door is opened roughly, it slams to the wall and Dwight can hear other things fall on the ground, followed by a low growl of frustration. Dwight holds his breath, eyes tracking the feet of the hunter, and the dread that surrounds him makes him shutter. The feet head towards the closet and another slam reverberates across the room. He almost chose the closet. Dwight is glad he didn’t

The Trapper lets out another grunt of frustration and closes the closet door. He swivels around and looks at his plush bed. His eyes narrow.

Oh shit. Dwight can’t take it anymore. As he sees the feet head towards where he’s hiding, he closes his eyes.

The Trapper crouches down and peers under his bed. He regrets being lazy and not properly cleaning up. What would Phillip think? His thick hand reaches under and starts patting around trying to find anything resembling a living person. All that he touches are random items and clothes. He hisses in anger and jerks his arm out and stands back up. Nothing.

“Fucker” He grumbles out, he goes to the next room. Leaving the door wide open.

Dwight sucks in a greedy breath of air. His heart is pounding in his chest, the adrenaline is coursing through his veins. Everything is tensed. How didn’t he find him? That was close. Too fucking close. He probably wet himself, but he doesn’t have the time to check.

He waits...

Another door slams open. He can hear the loud movements of the killer in the next room. It makes him stay rooted in his spot. Now?

Another beat of unbearable waiting.

Dwight can hear The Man gets increasingly angrier and angrier as he doesn’t find the cause of the opened window. His footfalls are loud and his breathing is audible even from under the bed.

“COME OUT YOU FUCKER!” The Trapper bellows, and something crashes in his fit of rage. 

Dwight shrinks further into himself and gathers more clothing on top of him. Oh, he is angry!  
The loud footfalls head back downstairs and head further down. He can barely make out the noise. This is his chance. Time to split!

Crawling out of his hiding spot, Dwight can see the wreckage of the killer’s rampage. The Door is slightly crooked and the door frame is chipped. There are other masks on the floor from the impact, but Dwight can’t stay and observe. He makes his way out the broken frame and back into the hallway.

As he makes his way down, he can’t hear the killer anymore. Dwight assumes there must be a back entrance and that's where the killer went to scout for him. He quickly rushes for the front door and opens it. He’s free!

He runs into what feels like a wall. That’s not right. It wasn’t blocked, only locked! Unless...

A large, calloused hand clamps down hard on his shoulder, the grip is bruising and Dwight lets out a whine. 

“Found you.”


	9. MOWING THE LAWN!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight. Pick your battles, WISELY, my dude!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually, when authors take long they have a good reason. Not me, I was lazy and then I became horny and now you guys have a chapter!
> 
> YEET!

OH FUCK!!!

Dwight shrieks, and jumps back. Well, tries to jump back. He can’t.

He should’ve stayed at the camp, should’ve just chatted with Claudette and pretend that he wasn’t hurting from the quick release that David used him for.

Man, he is really pathetic, isn’t he?

All of that doesn’t matter right this moment. He needs to get the hell out of the Trappers house and take that group outing lesson to the heart. But now. The Trapper is angry, angrier than Dwight’s ever seen him before. Not even being taunted and looped by Meg and the others made this beast of a man angry. It was usually annoyance, maybe a bit of anger, but not to this extent. The way his chest is heaving in and out with barely restrained anger. The grip on his shoulder is crushing and Dwight can feel the bones creak in protest. This is the anger of a man who kills for a living.

It’s oddly hot. His mind stupidly supplies.

Those bulging muscles, the way he so effortlessly can pick up Dwight and the others without breaking a sweat. How he can break pallets like there sheets of paper instead of hardwood. Not to mention the mans’ height; this man is so tall. Dwight has to completely tilt his head up to make eye contact with the mask that has been there since day one. Always hunting, never stopping.

“HEY!” The killer yells, and it seems that Dwight had been caught staring instead of shriveling in fear. Especially in front of a killer that is angry, now angrier because Dwight had the audacity to not pay attention to what he was saying. But can you blame him?

Yes, it is stupid to break into someones home. Like, what the hell was he thinking? Damn him and his stupid lack of control over himself.  
He train of thought is interrupted by pain. He is familiar with it-- has to be with all the countless trials in this realm-- yet it is always a shock to his body when he experiences it. For instance when his first had his head burst into chunks of viscera and gunk from the Pigs head traps. And now, as the Trapper backhands him so hard he falls to the ground with a grunt and has to spit up the blood in his mouth from biting his cheek. He flails and crawls backward to get away from the killer because regardless of how attractive the man is and how depraved Dwight himself is. The man is a killer, and Dwight is no doubt about to be killed for putting himself in a situation as dumb as this. 

The Trapper hand grabs his stray ankle and squeezes. Hard. A loud pop can be heard and Dwight grunts as the pain becomes a little bit much. He has died multiple times in many ways and yet something as simple as a broken ankle gets to be a bit much. Maybe it’s because the act of breaking a bone and not dying immediately afterward is much different to what he’s grown to be accustomed to or...

Maybe it’s that he can’t run away. Not with an ankle out of commission. He’s at the mercy of a killer who wants him to be punished, and there are worse things than death.

Tears prick at the edges of his eyes, his ankle is red and is starting to swell and the Trapper is looming over him. The mask is grinning as it always has, but this time it seems personal. 

“Now,” The Trapper rumbles and grabs the uninjured ankle and pulls Dwight towards the hulking giant of a man. “If you only paid attention then I wouldn’t have to discipline you so harshly” The pull stops and Dwight is pressed against the Trappers well-muscled thighs, they’re so wide that he has to spread his legs in order to accommodate them. Dwight turns his head away to stop from saying something along the lines of: ‘Discipline my ass, it more like assault!’ And many other fine colorful words. But he doesn’t cause he’s a coward.

Dwight can feel hungry eyes roaming over his body, and he’s trying so hard not to pop a chub. He feels Claudette would be proud. He focuses on his breathing and starts to wipe the tears from his face.

“You are one stupid man.” The Trapper remarks, snidely. He places his rough calloused hands on Dwight’s thighs and rubs in small circles. Dwight flinches at the touch, expecting to be hurt again, but to his dismay, the swell of heat is starting to build at this innocent(?) touch. “To break into a house is one thing,” the hands stop their light rubbing. “Breaking into my house, the house of the man who kills y’all for a living, is really really stupid.” The hands resume their rubbing, and Dwight feels shame swirl in his gut. However, it’s replaced with irritation shortly after.

“Didn’t know it was your damn house!” Dwight says, irked at the continuous insults. He honestly didn’t, although it is stupid to enter someone’s house. What is he, a creep? Good going dumbass!

The hands quickly change from the light rubbing to harsh gripping in seconds. Surely, he’s gonna have bruises. Maybe if he can convince the man to kill him, he won’t have to explain what happened and he can ignore it.

The Trapper pulls him closer, there is no space for Dwight to not feel anything but the harsh fabric of the killers clothing. Then a hand goes for his throat to put light pressure and Dwight has to bite his cheek to make sure he doesn’t smile. Almost close.

“What was that?” The Trapper leans forward and the harsh breathing that he is doing tells Dwight that this man is easily prone to anger. Dwight thinks he shouldn’t find it hilarious that a killer can get angry when he is always calm during a trail, but he does. So he opens his mouth to further poke the bear but can’t when the killer squeezes his neck, effectively cutting off his airflow and stopping him from making any remark. " I thought so.”

Dwight feels lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. He was close to freedom, but close won’t be good enough in this situation. Then he felt a hand on his thigh sliding closer and closer to his inner thigh. It gets really close to his junk that Dwight expels any remaining air from his lungs in surprise. What. 

Dwight must have made a face because the Trapper laughs at him. It’s gravely and mocking. He can’t bring himself to care, there are black spots in his vision and he feels the onset of death approaching and he feels happy to at least die before anything happened.

Then the hand removed itself and air rushed in his lungs making his vision blurry from coming back from being asphyxiated.

Motherfucker!

“...Motherfucker” Dwight croaks out, rubbing at his throat. It’s going to leave a big bruise in the size of the bastards hand. Why does that make something within him curl in sinister pleasure? Now isn’t the time for shit like that!

A growl comes from the man, and Dwight needs to stop making matters worse with a killer that hasn’t decided on what to do with him. But he will be damned if he doesn’t go out without being a little shit. The anger at David, at the Entity, and the killers like the man in front of him is making his meek demeanor slowly be pushed aside for his rage. It shouldn’t feel so freeing but it does, even if it makes him die faster because of his smart tongue.

Where was this confidence when he was hiding like a little bitch? What a fucking spazz.

It goes quite, both parties staring at each other. Dwight is still pinned by the heavy stare and too large hands around his thighs. The Trapper appears to be thinking something over and it must be bad if the smirk Dwight can make out in the low lighting is rivaling the one on his mask.  
Oh no.

Dwight tilts his head. What other choice does he have but to go along with whatever he is planning? The man moves closer forcing Dwight to spread his legs again to encompass the sheer size. It is really uncomfortable because he isn’t all the flexible. 

“You know, I should have fucked you back at the forest.” He murmurs. And begins to grind his clothed cock against Dwights’. It’s slow but passionate. The thrusts keep coming and Dwight can’t do anything but take it. “Practically asking for it” The trapper growls deeply, his hands grip Dwight's hips harshly to make it more easy for him to thrust harder.

Dwight is struggling to take it all in. The delicious rough grinding is making it hard to think. So, was that what he was warning Dwight all about? That if he didn’t stop he would get ravished? His cock is loving the attention and moans start to slip from his mouth.

“It wasn’t the first time I thought about it.” The Trapper grunts. “I watched you every single time you thought you were alone” Now that is creepy. Screw breaking into houses uninvited. Purposefully watching someone at their most vulnerable is super creepy …And a little hot

“How did it feel to have that other man fuck you?” It sounds like just talking about Dwight getting fucked is making the Trapper mad. But why? Why does this killer even care about what he does with his damn body? It’s HIS! The Trapper starts to palm at Dwight’s leaking cock. The hand grips it roughly making Dwight hiss in pain. “It looked like you were enjoying it, fuckin’ whore!” 

“I’m.. not a whore you ass--AHh” Dwight was about to yell at the man until the hand started to rub him faster. Sweet moans left his mouth and Dwight bit his fist in order to stop it. It sucks being pent up. Anything that so much as breathes on his dick and he already is close to coming.

The other hand that is not currently trying to rub his dick into oblivion reaches for Dwight's fist. It jerks that hand out of his mouth. Rude. The hand that was beating his dick leaves, only for it to grab his hand so that both hands are now restrained above his head. Dwight glares at smirk the Trapper throws his way.

With both hands in an iron grip, the Trapper resumes pumping his cock. “No use hiding those moans from me.” The hand moves to fondle his balls lightly, tugging every now and then. Dwight is getting close. The heat is building and his cock is leaking heavily. Making the tugging slick and so nice. Dwight lets out a needy whine when the Trapper rubs his sensitive tip. “That’s it, those sounds are mine, aren’t they little slut?”

Dwight grits his teeth. Regardless of the names, the friction is good. He thrusts his hips into the warm hand and pants out a small “Yes…” Anything to get the man to continue. With how the Trappers breathing hitches and the grip tightens for a split second. He said the right thing. Now the man is beginning to leave marks on his neck, hot puffs of air against his ear made him shiver. He doesn’t know when the man slid his mask up, but he doesn’t care at this point. Dwight is almost close to releasing.

“That’s it, that’s my good little slut.” The man’s voice is rough, full of desire and a hint of something else. He bites Dwight’s shoulder hard, blood starts to flow down and collect on the hollow of his clavicle. Dwight cums with a yell. His spend landing on his chest and the man’s hands. 

Dwight feels spineless like usual, the afterglow of an orgasm makes everything hazy and he isn’t aware of what's happening around for a few minutes.

Which is why he doesn’t notice the Trapper get rid of his too short shorts and the killers own clothing, baring his whole form to him. The man’s cock is thick and just a tad bit longer than Dwight’s. It’s swollen, an angry red. The tip glistens with pre and the Trapper strokes it a few times as he watches Dwight in his little daze. Small, quiet expletives leave his mouth but Dwight can’t make out what he is saying. Then the man moves.

He grabs Dwight's hips, Dwight lets out a tired moan, hefts them up and places the younger man’s legs on his broad shoulders. Grabbing a thigh in each hand, he pushes his face towards his goal. Dwight's spent cock is half hard and his balls hang nicely, a small dribble of come leaks from the tip and the Trapper opens his mouth and licks a broad swipe. 

That’s when Dwight lets a small confused moan and realizes that it isn’t over. The afterglow is fading. His body is in a different position then last time, this is what happens. Dumbass.

The Trapper smirks at the sound of Dwight’s confusion, and he opens his mouth and engulfs Dwight’s cock and balls in his mouth. Dwight keens loudly and begins to struggle. Overstimulation makes it feel a touch uncomfortable. The Trapper growls, sending pleasant vibrations on Dwight’s sensitive cock, and grips his thighs more tightly and tugged him forward. The cock and balls in his mouth get shoved more into his gullet and he swallows reflexively. A glob of pre squirts out and settles on the back of his tongue, the trapper swirls his tongue and suckles causing more of Dwight's juices to trickle out. Dwight cries out, hot tears flowing down his face.

“St-Stop please!” He moans, twitching and struggling weakly. “It’s too much please” 

The Trapper moves his head back, letting the smaller man's junk plop out. Lick his lips, he mouths at Dwight’s. “I am not through with you yet.” He laughs at Dwight’s tear-streaked face and bites down hard on the thigh. Dwight grunts in pain, more fat tears fall down, and the Trapper is tempted to lick them up. So he licks up the blood from the mark he left the man below him and move back to his prize. The cock is still wet and dripping with his saliva, the scrotum is in a similar shape. Giving one last kiss, he noses his way down until he reaches his goal. Dwight’s asshole.  
“W-wait. Please stop” Dwight begs, overall not able to decide whether he wants this or not. Too overwhelmed with the onslaught of sensation. More tears leave his eyes and he sniffs. Rubbing his ears he feels it.

The Trapper licks at the hole, it twitches in response. Dwight squeals in shock, never had he experienced a rimjob before. The man sucks at the hole and it pops obscenely. He moves in, nose digging into the perineum, and begins to thoroughly lick at the rim. Each broad sweep of the tongue makes Dwight moan, which in turn urges him on causing him to lick even more aggressively. All just to hear those delightful noises. He stops to suckle on the hole and shifts so that he can place a wide finger in. He delves into deep until his knuckle hits the rim. He adds another one shortly afterward, taking turns between finger fucking and sucking on Dwight’s taut balls. 

With an air of finality, the Trapper places Dwight down lower. He wraps the smaller man’s legs around his hips. The wooden floor digs into Dwight’s back. All he can respond with is a weak mewl, too overloaded with pleasure. The Trapper’s cock has been leaking a puddle of pre-come below him, eager and ready. The man swipes some of the pre and uses it to lube up his aching cock. He spits on it as well, more so for the smaller man's sake than his. Although he would never tell him. The Trapper lines his cock to the wet, twitching hole. Ignoring Dwight’s protests, he slams in. Down to the hilt.

Dwight’s eyes roll up into his head. It’s so good, and it’s too much. His cock squirts more pre onto his stomach and he moans. The man above him laughs and begins canting his hips into the wet heat. He groans, shuddering at how the walls grip his cock so well. “Fuckin’ tight! That man wasn’t enough for you, huh?” He thrusts harder, just to hear Dwight cry out. “Needed a real man to fuck you proper!” Dwight mewls to lost in this line between pain and pleasure. All that he knows is that another orgasm is coming.

The trapper groans low and gravely. It’s been too long since he indulged in this type of pleasure. He can’t recall how long, but he believes it was before the fog. Regardless, He picks up the pace. He thrusts harder, deeper and hits a spot that makes Dwight release a wail. The trapper chuckles and aims for that spot, nailing it repeatedly giving no break for his man below him. His own release rapidly building. He leans down and captures the others in an intense lip lock, plunging his tongue in when Dwight gasps in surprise. The Trapper slams hard into Dwight’s prostate making the smaller man moan into the kiss, the man greedily swallows it up and comes hard. 

The Trapper groans as the walls clench and convulse. He slams once more, deeper, inside and comes. Dwight squirms at how much the man unloads in him. “Yeah, take it.” The trapper growls out as his cock continues to pump more cum into the man.

After a few seconds, it stops and the Trapper pulls out. Cum spills out, creating a puddle beneath a tired Dwight. The Trapper grins, tired and satisfied to claim this survivor as his.  
Fatigue hits Dwight like a truck, he succumbs to it.

Unable to escape the killers grasp...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwight got his ass beat, then he got it eaten.
> 
> Like I want my ass to be e---
> 
> Have a good day!
> 
>  
> 
> Ps: Expect the usual errors, I am a horny human.


	10. Oh NO!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight: Lemme just slip on out here...
> 
> Herman: HAVE YOU HEARD ABOUT OUT LORD AND SAVIOR--
> 
> Dwight:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy

He is back in his old high school’s hallways, faceless figures moving in and about like a school of fish. He looks down and sees he is naked. Laughter fills the halls, echoing in his ears and it gets louder. So loud it’s like a heartbeat drowning everything. He is embarrassed, so he shields his junk and looks for a way out, but everywhere is filled with leering smiles, obnoxious laughter, and the mass of faceless figures. He can’t find an opening anywhere. He’s TRAPPED.

The group of people split in the middle as something bigger comes through. The figure towers over all of them, it’s body massive and face shrouded in permanent shadow. Dwight can only see the eyes and aren’t they a cause for terror. The gaze immobilizes him, his body doesn’t react to his flight instincts as they SCREAM at him to run and hide. The figure makes its way towards him, slowly and sluggish but nonetheless frightening. The laughter reaches a crescendo and it’s too loud. It grates Dwight's eardrums. His body twitches and he tries to run but it's too late. The monster is close and grips his forearm painfully; Dwight claws at the offending hand only for the shadow that was surrounding the monster to latch onto him and restrict his movements. The creature brings Dwight closer, and the shadows vibrate in delight as his body gets closer to it. More and more tendrils start enveloping his body. His legs, his stomach. Dwight struggles harder, he screams for help from the crowd, but all they do is continue on laughing and laughing. No one cares, no one has ever cared. The spectacle happening to Dwight is ignored, like he usually is. It scares him that it’s such a recurrence in his life. With the last remainder of his strength, Dwight yells out, his pleas swiftly get overwhelmed by the laughter. No one is coming. He’s alone.

The darkness finally consumes him, it starts to dig into his skin The pain made him tear up and yelp in pain, but the shadows begin to enter in his mouth. Slowly starting to suffocate him. Throughout his struggle, he hears a sinister voice echoing all around him. He can’t tell where it’s coming from, but the voice seems to be originating by his ear. Shivers run down his spine, and something grabs his neck. He gurgles in surprise at the deep familiar voice.

“Y o U a R e M i N e!!”  
~~~  
Dwight snaps awake in a jolt, but in doing so his body protests. Dwight huffs in air quickly, he is SORE. The aches are running deep, and he smacks his lips, finding his throat parched for water. Which is an unusual occurrence because every since he plummeted into this cesspool he has never had the urge to eat or drink. The entity made sure of that, but Dwight counts that as a blessing otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to do anything remotely sexual surrounding his ass. He scrunches his nose in disgust at the thought.

Speaking of ass, he can feel something inside him. When Dwight runs his hands down to his hole-- which by the way is sore, did he mention that?-- he is surprised to find a plug nestled in there like it belongs. He tugs on it and that shifts it inside of him, so now it rests on his prostate, making his body slowly wake up from the nightmare he just had. It starts of with a low ache in his balls then makes it way up to his slowly but hardening shaft. Now, it's nice to know that he is not dead-- that dream felt a little bit too real-- but this isn’t the time to jack off. 

Especially since he is in a killer's home. Naked, sore, and hurt, Dwight wonders if it is worth the effort to leave. He berates himself. Of course, it is, Claudette must be extra worried about him. And the last time he made her worry, she didn’t speak to him for about the equivalent of a week. Only sparing glares, and if he got close, a punch here and there until Dwight broke down and she forgave him as well. 

Determination swells beside his buzzing arousal, and he goes to the edge of the plush bed he was sleeping on and hops off. Which, first off, was a dumb idea. What if the Trapper heard him stomping around and came back up in what is probably his room? Judging by the masks adorning the wall and such, he assumes that's the case. Secondly, it was bad because: boy did his lower back hurt. Dwight let out a groan as his muscles cramped and made him wobble on his two feet. This causes more pain to radiate out and make Dwight bite his fist. His ankle is broken. While it isn’t as bad as the pain he experiences on a daily basis, it causes him to limp around. And lastly, it nudges the plug in his ass against his prostate. The pleasure from this causes his dick to leak pre-come on the wooden floor. Wow, make a mess, why don’t you? Dwight quickly checks around the room to find his clothing to get the hell out of this. Seeing nothing of his, he decides that it doesn’t matter right now. The others had seen him naked before and it’s not like something anyone else hasn’t seen before.

He treads to the bedroom door and opens it slowly. It doesn’t make any creaks as the others had before, so that is a good sign. Flinching back in case the Trapper was waiting for him at the entrance just makes him sorer and look silly doing so. Dwight sneaks into the hallway and towards the stairwell, each step sends dull aches but the adrenaline makes him ignore it for now. Everything looks the same, but of course it does. Not like it would change over some frightful rest that quickly. He places one timid foot on the first step and squeezes his eyes shut. No squeak. No Trapper coming up to get him. Nothing. Just silence and ambient house noises. 

Once he reaches the bottom Dwight can hear faint humming coming from a part of the house he hasn’t visited yet. But that time will never come because as soundless as he can- he’s thankful for Nea’s advice on being quiet on her feet- he reaches the front door and opens it.

Only to see the Doctor at the other side.

…

Dwight blinks at the Doctor. The Doctor blinks back. The killer looks normal and not insane now that the clamps on both his eyes and mouth are gone. It leaves a handsome face staring back at Dwight. A moment of silence passed between the both of them; each side struggling on what to do. Dwight can see the Doctor noticing his lack of clothing, and just as the killer was opening his mouth to say something. No doubt something vulgar or curious. Dwight shuts the door in his face. Slowly. While still maintaining eye contact.

The door clicks shut.

Dwight locks the door. He steps back and decides that it is best to find another way out. And fast! Because the humming is gone and he can hear the Trapper getting closer. Probably to check up on him.

There is a loud set of knocks on the door that causes Dwight to jump in his skin. Little sparks of electricity fizzle out under the door. Each wave gets closer and closer to Dwight, which makes Dwight shiver in morbid fascination. The memories of the electricity flowing through his body, light up nerves and making him sensitive to the Doctors touch makes his dick harden more. What if--

“COMING, HOLD YOUR DAMN HORSES!!” The Trapper yells at the person behind the door. It snaps Dwight out of his trance and he flees back upstairs. Might as well pretend to not have moved. Right?

Dwight makes it in the bedroom just as the Trapper opens the door. He leaves it open to eavesdrop like the creep he is.

The Trapper opens the door. The Doctor stands there with a smile. Although he is always smiling, this time it seems pointed. Like he’s the butt of a joke. It doesn’t sit well with The Trapper so he grunts out, “Herman, Forgot about today. Come back another and we continue our poker game.”

Herman giggles and it grates on the Trappers nerves. He is used to the odd giggle here and there, its Herman. But again, it feels like he’s getting laughed at. He grits his teeth in rapidly building frustration. “Oh Evan, I can see why you busy.”

“What?” What is his game? 

Another round of giggles. “Don’t act dumb Evan.” When the man continues on like he still doesn’t quite grasp what Herman is talking about. Herman sighs, “ I know you have a pet with you.”

Evan narrows his eyes at the man in front of him. Who seems giddy and amused at the situation he’s in. He grabs the man's forearm, ignoring the thrum of electricity the man exudes and drags him into his home. He slams the door, locks it, and turns to face the man. “Spill”

The Doctor smiles and walks to the nearby couch and sits down. His electricity surges rapidly, it arcs around the man, dancing along the floor. It tingles Evan but he doesn’t show it. “I want to play with him”

Evan growls, anger and possessiveness coloring his voice. “No. I don’t share. He’s mine.”

The air is thick with tension. Herman is calm and collected. It pisses Evan off even more. He clenches his fists and is prepared to get physical if he must.

The Doctor laughs, high pitched and manic.

“I don’t think you have a choice, dear friend”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CrrEEPER. Aw man
> 
> Dwight needs to yeet himself out the windows Friday the 13th style!


	11. The escape.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death is fun.
> 
> Sometimes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, read 'Escape' as Dory does in Finding Nemo.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, expect some fuck ups cuz I = Human = mistakes inbound!

Ok, time to fucking leave! Dwight could barely comprehend that two killers wanted him in a way that wasn’t killing. This whole situation is just so out of the left-field that he doesn’t know if he should feel flattered that someone is actually interested in him, or feel horrified because it’s fucking killers who want him.

But would it be so bad? To have someone that wants him in this kind of shitty life he lives in now. The never-ending dying is taking a toll on him, he feels himself slip away into the black fog after every death and that scares him. They all don’t have much time before they are fully killed, fully CONSUMED by this fog, so should he be selfish and just take?

His hand hovers over the doorknob in the Trap--Evan’s- room. And isn’t that a thing. They have names. No longer are they unnamed monsters. It makes them more human, and that is… something. He doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Dwight dismisses his fantasies and overall craving for companionship. He can’t be longing to be with a killer, and he can’t give up hope just yet. He will leave this place. Put this behind him. Get a better job with people who actually respect him and not take anything less. Even if, in the end, he ends up homeless. Better to be hated than loved for what he isn’t. Right?

He grips the doorknob and opens the door once again. The...people? He might as well as address them as killers to keep any sanity he has left. The killers downstairs seem to be done with their little squabble and that doesn’t bode well for him.

Both Evan and Herman were halfway up when Dwight spotted them. Eye contact happens and Dwight made the decision of slamming the door shut. Locking it and backing up. Smart. Now he has no way out… wait there’s a window. Soo..may----

Moments later there was a loud pounding, the door shook with the raw force of each hit, and Evans frustrated voice coming through the door. Although muffled, Dwight can hear the Doctor giggling behind him at this amusing scene. The nervous leader notices a dresser nearby and quickly goes to fortify the door even more. The loud thud of the furniture hitting the ground alarmed the killers outside the door. Herman isn’t finding it funny anymore and Evan is blisteringly angry now. He pulls out his trademark weapon and begins to hack the door away. Dwight can see through the splintered door and doesn’t really like this situation.

The young man goes to the window, which is weird considering it’s a two-story house, but it'll do for now. He slides it open, feeling the humid air of this world hitting his face. It’s a long drop, but maybe that’s just his mind trying to psych himself out. He has fallen out of countless windows with heights ranging, this is no big deal. Just do it you coward!

Just as he gets his left leg through the door bursts open and the Trapper and the Doctor both scramble in. They see him halfway out. It’s the first time he’s seen any killer run. It’s quite horrific and mesmerizing.

 

He falls.

 

Only for his ankle to be caught in a familiar grip. Being stopped so abruptly is killing his back. Not to mention, like OW it’s the same broken ankle that was grabbed. So rude. He looks and sees the angry eyes of the Trapper, they hold promises to pain and punishment. But there is a hint of something else in there. Fear? Longing? 

Nope. Don’t think and don’t hope for such a thing. Dwight starts to struggle, but the grip is firm and he is slowly being pulled up. Back into the house of a killer. With another killer. Which want to ‘play’ with him. He struggles harder, glad that he took note of Kate's moves when she tries to get out of a killers grasp. He also kicks the hand holding on him like a particular face he wants to beat in. He’s almost to the window. A swift kick with all the strength he could muster while dangling upside down causes an audible pop in the air; the grip goes slack.

And again, he falls. But this time he makes sure it’s to land on his neck. He doesn’t want to be alive for a couple of hours. He welcomes the quietness that happens whenever he and the others get sacrifices, or if they are unfortunate: Moried.

Dwight’s body hits the ground. His neck snaps from the force of his weight and the speed. It’s loud and it hurts for just a moment. Then he loses consciousness. His dead body lays limp, Evan looks out in disappointment and a little bit of sadness. He wanted to keep the little survivor. Guess not. He’ll have to try again and be smarter.

“Looks like you’re not having any fun, Herman” He grumbles to the man beside him. He begins to pick up after himself. In his hurry to catch HIS boy, he broke the door and furniture. At least he’ll have another task to do in between the trails now.

The Doctor stays silent. Watching as the Entity appears from the ground and swallows the corpse before them. Just like that, it’s as if nothing happened. Fascinating.

“There are always trials.” Herman smirks. Thinking back to Dwight and the lovely reactions he gave him. He makes a good subject. It’s a shame the little prey had gotten away, he is sure that next time, he won’t have the stamina to do so.

Evan squints at Herman. Doesn’t really appreciate anyone thinking about his Boy like that. It’ll be a priority to recapture Dwight again. Before the other can.

So Herman leaves, poker night forgotten for the time being. A plan swirling in the manic mind of his. Yes, perfect.

A rivalry formed between the two.

~~~

Dwight can’t see anything, but he knows he’s in the void between the realm. He can hear harsh whispers of unintelligible words flitting about. It’s always the same as every time he has died in this realm. In the beginning, he was so scared that the voices rose in volume. Almost mocking his fear. That wasn’t a pleasant experience. Now, as he is drifting about, he feels apathetic about the whole experience, the noises fade into white noise. It gets tiring after dying multiple times in a variety of ways. This space is just for healing the broken and damaged beyond repair bodies of the prey. Nothing more or less.

He awakes near the campfire. Body healed and ready for another round of mutilation and fun. He is naked still, he covers his crotch as routine and goes to his stash that each survivor gets. Dwight finds no clothing like before and decides the Entity can go fuck itself.

The ground opens up and out shoots a beaten box. It lands in front of Dwight who eyes it warily. A note stands out against the torn material. Opening it up only reveals his name in the same scratchy writing as with the other one.

Wanting to get this whole ordeal over with, for the time being, he opens the box and is met with an outfit. Well, the outfit was an understatement. It was… a playboy outfit. It isn’t what the girls wore back home, no, it seems suited for men. Also, there was less clothing to show off his torso and legs... Who? How? WHY? He doesn’t know. He puts on the cuffs, one for each wrist. They’re are soft. Sliding the detached suit collar around his neck, his face heats up. It’s snug, and it provides some small pleasure. Next up was this thong, it was themed as a small tuxedo for his crotch and had a small tuft of hair on the back. A tail… great. He slides up the black boots that came with this outfit, something practical for the trials and his displeasure went down just a bit. An itty bit.

It blasted off into the stratosphere as he lifted up a pair of fluffy white bunny ears. They mock him. He throws it off into the forest somewhere. Because fuck the Entity that’s why. He stands up, with the dignity he could muster as being forced as some being’s dress-up doll. Something soars through the air and smacks him in the head. He glares. Its. The. DAMN. BUNNY. EARS!.

Begrudgingly, he puts them on. Otherwise, he knows the Entity will continue to bombard him with more. They cling to his head, and he can somehow hear more clearly than before. Hyper Focused hearing is not a trait most humans have. He attempts to take off the ears, but they cling into his scalp and pulling more cause tears of pain to form. It hurts like hell, and now it’s stuck there.

Great, more shit to deal with.

He feels like boycotting life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit:
> 
> I made my own reference of Dwight in the bunny outfit!
> 
> https://imgur.com/a/cv3bOTm


	12. Screams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bunny gets caught.
> 
> >:3 c

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I have some ideas for Dwight to drown in puss puss but I won't write it due to :  
> 1) I don't want to write female anatomy when I(a male) have never been with a female. It seems kinda silly, like what will I call the vagina??? a snatch? A C L A M?!!! A F U C K I N G T U N N E L!!!!  
> 2) I'm indulging my dick craving side...
> 
> In case those were wondering if I was going to add any hetero ships? I mean for obscure background pairings yes, maybe hints at lesbo relationships too but I am not an avid write... they're not the main focus.
> 
> if not then ignore this I guess?!

The ears, although very embarrassing at first, became quite handy real quickly in the trails. He can hear farther than the others, scouting out which killer it is by the way they tread on the ground and their heavy breathing. Killers like the Clown, The Cannibal, and ...Evan breathe heavily. Even being in close distance they can hear the smoker laugh the Clown emits after finding one of them, or E--The Trappers bear-like exhales. Killers like The Wraith, The Pig, and The Shape are very fucking hard to hear. The grass usually shifts beneath their feet, and he can hear their soft breaths as they stalk around and hunt us from the shadows. 

Especially him.

Michael fucking Myers.

The thick, dark fog brought his group into the Gideon Meat Plant. The sweet smell of decay is a permanent fixture in this place. Rotting, maggot-infested pig carcasses and human corpses were strewn across the whole place. This is where the Pig came from. How she can stand the sickeningly sweet smell of carcass, and not dry heave every now and then is beyond him. But that is not the issue. No. The issue is when Dwight is minding his own business, working on a generator with his fellow survivor, and the motherfucker scares the piss out of Jane. She just chances a look over her shoulder, a life-saving motion ingrained into all of them, when she screams. Pure terror. The gen sparks. Dwight screams in response to her screaming. Jane ran away, not looking back. Dwight looks to see what she is running from. And sees a pale white face staring back.

With the noise the generate began to emit, he couldn't hear the breathing of the masked serial killer. Though now, face to face with the killer, he can hear it. Which is weird, it usually isn’t this loud. But the breathing is echoed by the mask. It’s fast and heavy. Almost...excited.

He flees out of there quickly, tail clinging to his body. He needs a pallet, this killer is hounding him. Dwight manages to come across Laurie. The man’s main obsession. Everything he craves, to kill. The bunny-man looks back slowing down a bit to see if he took the bait.

Laurie swears, loud and fierce, and darts away. Michael stops and watches her, his body twitches, urging him to give chase. He doesn’t listen. The masked man focuses his attention back on Dwight. Who squeaks at the intensity. Michael resumes the chase, faster than before, his knife raised into the air. Blood glinting in the low light.

Yep, a pallet would be nice. Dwight sprints, adrenaline-pumping making him a bit faster. The Shape is right on his tail. A pallet is right in front of him, he reaches for it. Only to fall flat on his stomach as Michael dug his knife into his back. Dwight groans as he tries to crawl away, but it stopped as the killer grabs his ankles and drags him towards the silent killer. He gets flipped over, hissing as his back digs into the concrete ground, blood pooling around him in a red halo. Michaels breath hitches and his hands are on him. They grasp his shoulders, squeezing then stopping as if the man doesn’t know what to do. He straddles Dwight, he takes the tip of the big knife and digs it into Dwight’s left pectoral(who groans in protest), etches something into the skin, and then stabs the knife near the smaller man’s head. It sinks into the concrete like warm butter. A terrifying display of strength. Why does it arouse Dwight so greatly? His cock hardens in his themed thong. It doesn’t hide anything, straining against the cloth. Waiting to be released by anyone near.

Someone is definitely near. The heavyweight above him shifts, Michael is now panting. His huge hand gropes Dwight’s straining dick, which makes the younger man below him moan in pleasure. Dwight goes to move, not wanting to be underneath another killer right now, but gets choke slammed against the hard ground. Stars danced across his eyes, the pain flares up making the stab wound leak more crimson. The hand around his neck leaves and the other hand on his crotch continue its groping. Squeezing and pumping the cock, making a mess of both Dwight and the thong. Michael leans down, his masked face now closer to the man below him, breathing heavily. It makes Dwight squirm, it is different. With a man not verbal, but still affected nonetheless. The way his chest is heaving, hands squeezing in barely contained excitement like he wanted this for a while. Dwight dick twitches at the thought. Him, being wanted? Sure...

Michael's hands leave him, making him whine (to his utter embarrassment), to go at his jumpsuit, sliding the zipper down. He stops down to his groin, and shrugs off the top, leaving his physique bare to Dwight. Who swallows at the form in front of him. Sweat runs down his skin, over every ridge and defined muscles. It makes the muscles shine lightly in this dim-lit area, the black tank top clings to him, outlining the firm chest. Puts David to shame, that’s for sure. Dwight licks his lips, eyeing the sweat dripping down the killer's neck and pooling at the collarbone. It makes him want to slide his tongue on that hot skin to gather it up. Knife be damned. DEATH be damned. Michael notices Dwight twitching and tilts his head. Curious, and kinda cute. The Shape then slips his cock out, the cockhead covered in the foreskin and leaking a steady stream of pre-come. It twitches in the cool, dank air and Dwight’s own twitches back, feeling sympathy.

Michael moves up to Dwight's face, dick swaying with his movements. Dwight gulps, it’s slightly bigger than his and thicker. The musk is earthy and it is addicting, he wants to bury his face in the pubs and inhale the scent, lick up any sweat in the curls(which are a dirty blonde!). Wasting no time, Michael impatiently rubs the head on Dwights plump lips. He grunts when Dwight doesn’t open them, so he continues to rub against them, letting out small groans which mess with Dwight’s head. Both of them… Dwight opens his mouth and suckles on the covered head, he traces inside of the coverage with his tongue, spit mixing with saliva makes the crown pop out of hiding. Michael shoves his dick into Dwight’s mouth with no warning, he hilts it to the back and releases a growl similar to a predator defending its prey from others. Dwight groans and swallows reflexively, tasting the saltiness of sweat and skin. It makes his dick weep more pre-come out, his thong a darker white than before.

The thrusts are harsh and Michaels pelvis meets his nose whenever he hilts in Dwight’s nose, allowing him an inhale of the scent. He gurgles happily around the cock lodge into his throat, feeling lightheaded due to both the delicious dick in his mouth and the bloodloss. He hopes he can come before bleeding out. He swallows when the dick slides in, hollowing his cheeks when it slides out. Michael groans and begins to fuck his throat with abandon, Dwight gags, the wet smacks of his balls slapping him in the face, the overall savageness of this blowjob makes him writhe in pleasure. His own orgasm approaches rapidly, being used so viciously is a kink he didn’t know he had. Michael's hands flutter, grabbing his hair, his shoulders, smearing Dwight’s blood all over him before he decides to go for the man’s head and slams himself as deep as he can into Dwight's welcoming gullet and releases a loud groan. His cock swells and gushes wave after wave of cum into hot wet heat, it goes on for a bit, his fingers clench and it’s a little bit of pain the pushes, Dwight. He cums in his thong, it seeps through the material and onto the floor, he slumps body exhausted

Michael still hasn’t let go of his hair, the killer is heaving, still trying to recover from the blowjob. Dwight swallows, hoping that will make him cringe away due to overstimulation. It only makes Michael cling tighter and give shallow thrusts into his throat. The killer's dick is slowly starting to become hard again, and if this keeps up Dwight will be dead before a round two.

“MICHAEL FUCK OFF!” Laurie screams. Then a fizzle and pop. Fireworks.

Michael flinches to cover his eyes, dick sliding out of Dwight's mouth with an obscene squelch. The drowned man breathes in air greedily, filing his lung as black spots dance around A prick to his neck and then he feels a rigorous rush of energy flow through him, enough to get up from under Michael who falls on his back with a groan. He follows Laurie and she leads them to the gates. The Shape must’ve taken his sweet time with him because the gates are open. Laurie patches Dwight up, taking note of what is marked on his chest.

“Want me to fix it?” She grunts. Not looking at him, but he knows what she means.

“That will just make him want to do worse,” He says.

She nods and they both run out, A shape watching them from afar, seething silently.

~~~

“Hey” 

Dwight looks to the voice, it’s Laurie again, she seems nervous. But for what he doesn’t know. What’s so scary about him? Unless…

“What’s up?” He asks.

“Look, I’m sorry for what he did to you. If I had known I would have made sure he---” She begins only for Dwight to interrupt her.

“Hey now, I’m fine. It happens to the best of us” He tries to reassure her, but she shakes her head.

“No, He’s my responsibility. So it’s my fault someone got hurt by him.”

They stare, both not breaking eye contact. Then Dwight chuckles softly. A blush colors his cheeks, and Laurie raises a brow at him. “I-if anything. I kinda asked for it,”

“What?”

Oh, shoot. She’s staring at him incredulously. “You see, I was...busy and he found me when I was..busy. That led to the whole… you know” He points to the “M” sliced into his chest.

Laurie looks at the mark, then back at Dwight’s face. He turns redder and she laughs. It’s loud and quite frankly-- ugly, but it’s her laugh. It makes Dwight laugh at how contagious it is. They dissolve into giggles, and soon small smiles.

“Just be careful, okay?” Laurie places a hand on his shoulder.

“Yea.” He nods, feeling warm that someone besides Claudette is worried about him.

One thing is for sure.

He needs to learn how to be better at getting out of ...sticky… situations.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stan(if I am even using the slang correctly) moderate dick sizes.
> 
> Like, if you like the big whopping monster dikk, that's all good! However, it makes me cringe and my ass clench at the thought of the pain. I ain't no size queen hunnie, this ride is for inches 5-8!
> 
> This has been my soapbox, please fight me cause I want to sleep for a while.


	13. Swift and Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight is....training....
> 
> hmmmm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light angst. From Dwight. Dwangst?
> 
> enjoy?

The hard ground quickly meets his back. Dwight lies there stunned and hurting. But this hurt isn’t anything compared to what the killers do to them. So he grits his teeth, gets back up and faces Bill. Man, for an old man, he sure is limber. Wonder if he has the stamina to...

The old war veteran looks at him, amused at his predicament. Though he doesn’t say anything, Dwight is grateful that this man isn’t one for harsh insults when training someone. Dwight wipes his arms free of dirt and shifts his stance.

“O..okay,” He huffs, the air left his lungs quickly when being slammed onto the harsh ground. “ So, that’s what you can do when someone tries to attack with a knife, right?” This is one of a couple of moves he got taught. The others were simpler. Guess he ranked up on the difficulty scale somewhere along the line. No matter, he can do this. For reasons.

Bill looks at Dwight, then his marked chest. The man reaches in his pocket, pulling out an unlimited supply of those thick cigars Dwight’s only seen in old movies and lights it. The smell isn’t pleasant, it stings Dwight’s nose, but it seems like an interesting way to occupy oneself. The hardened old man puffs out a cloud of smoke, watching the vapors float and fade away. Free. Something he and the other survivors are not allowed to be.

“Yes, although I just showed you it. You won’t be a master at it in one sitting.” A long drag of the cigar. “Now, try it on me, Kid.” Bill shifts his weight and comes at Dwight. It’s so sudden, it makes Dwight flail in surprise. Bill uses this to his advantage and roughly grabs his arm, adjusting the new weight and flips Dwight over his shoulder. Another thump and a resounding groan, Dwight is back up. Be tossed around is kinda hot, but it gets quite annoying when it happens repeatedly when he knows it’s coming. He is warier and on guard. Bill smirks at the younger man, sees him shaking in adrenaline and determination. The old man’s eyes slid over the young man's form, slightly appreciating what is before him.

“Cheap shot!” Dwight shakes his hands and re-adjusts his stance. His eyes flit around Bills body, searching for any tensing of muscles or any telltale signs of aggression.

Again, Bill smirks at him, this time it’s teasing. “Just 'cause you’re half-naked doesn’t mean it’ll distract me Kid” It makes the kid flush red, he decides to slow down this time. Knowing the Kid didn’t have to fight essentially two wars--against humans and the deadly creatures-- and needed guidance.

Like Dwight was taught, when Bill went in with a sharp swing, he pivots on his heel. The feel of the fist just barely missing him makes his heart pump into overdrive. He grabs both the nape of the older man's neck and attacking arm and slams his weight onto his back. The old man grunts as he hits the ground. He did it. Must be a fluke, Bill was slower than last time. 

“Nice job, Kid.” Bill praises and waits. And waits…. “Kid?” That’s when he felt it, the prodding on his backside, and the heavy breathing. Oh. Ok then. Feeling a little bit more lively than usual, Bill decides to grind back into Dwight. Hearing the boy’s breath hitch, then a strangled scream as the weight quickly leaves him. Hmm… a shy one. He turns over and watches Dwight from the ground, the boy is nervous; Bill can tell. It’s different seeing that behavior returning when Dwight has changed a lot from the beginning. Meek to stubborn, something happened.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry,” Dwight utters, turning around so Bill doesn't get an eyeful of his hardon. An eye-full of ass is better than an eye full of dick. Right? At least he thinks so, otherwise, this is embarrassing. Bill is a handsome older man, his hardened edges and the full white beard makes his loins trickle with heat. But Dwight didn’t go to him for a fuck, he went for some basic self-defense training. It probably won’t work on the killers but it is better to be safe than sorry. And not to mention the man is old enough to be his father, and still, that doesn’t kill the attraction he has for the man. It makes it burn brighter. Maybe being stuck at the age of twenty-four is what makes his urges surge like roaring waves.

“Kid,” Bill says, spreading his legs a little, leaning on his elbow and stares at Dwight’s ass. Although the Kid doesn’t have a single hard muscle, his softness is quite appealing. With muscles not as developed like David’s but not a gut like Jeff’s, Dwight’s physique falls in the grey area between. Dwight still doesn’t turn around, though he tilts his head to the older man to show he heard him. “It’s natural, the blood gets pumpin’ when you’re in a fight.”

“Doesn’t make it any better.” Dwight pouts, petulant and still red as a cherry. His glares at his dick, it’s hardness hasn’t diminished whatsoever, and it has been a couple of weeks since his encounter with Michael ...so he has been backed up a bit. 

A warm chuckle draws his heated stare at his dick, Bill is waving him over. The man just exudes sex appeal. Dwight turns to tread to the man, like a cat chasing a laser beam, but stops. A pensive frown on his face.

What else does he have to lose…, in this place, it's not like he can find the right person to settle down. All this dying and surviving just gives people an excuse to find another way of coping. Does he want to use sex to cope as well? With the other men, he can fool himself into thinking he HAD to do it, it was that or die. But he’s not afraid of dying, that much is sure. So why did he allow them to do it? For pleasure or for… intimacy. It didn’t go as planned.

“Kid?” The soft voice calls him out of his thoughts. Dwight looks at bill. The man has a curious look on his face.

“I gotta go do something Bill,” Dwight turns back and walks into the forest. “See ya.”

His heart feels heavy as he treads on through the forest. His dick isn’t hard anymore so that’s a plus. The trees tower over him, crows leer down at him; cawing. The sound loud and jarring, it’s like laughter. Even animals mock him, he’s not safe from anything.

Their beady, pitch-black eyes would’ve normally cause Dwight to be uneasy, all it did was make him even more bitter. He grabs a stone and chucked it at them, they disperse in union. A black cloud leaving, it’s mesmerizing in a way. Good. They were annoying anyway! Dwight sulks and treks onward, the sea of trees blending and morphing as he is lost in his thoughts.

Dwight picks a tree, any tree it didn’t matter, and rubs at his eyes. He slides down onto the ground, the bark scratching at his back, reigniting the old wounds left on his back by Michael. They sting alongside the tears, and he releases the dam. Ugly, wet sobs come from his chest and the familiar sinking feeling of loneliness embraces him like a lost lover.

Why him? Out of all the people in the damn world, what made him so special to be thrust into a shitty situation like this. Why couldn’t it happen to his shitty boss, to his shitty coworkers, to any shitty person? He shouldn’t have gone on the damn trip, it wasn’t even mandatory! He just wanted a chance to be noticed, to make friends. Damn, he’s pathetic. He needs to focus on himself, screw what others think.

His shoulder shake, sobs flowing out freely. His eyes red and puffy, snot running down his nose. He probably looks like shit, but he can’t muster up any energy to give a damn. The man hugs himself tighter.

Dwight's new ears pick up the sound of light, cautious footsteps nearby. He doesn’t really care at the moment. He hopes it’s a killer, maybe the Hillbilly. Getting chainsawed feels like a good thing, anything to stop this awful stupid feeling. The seconds tick by and his mood plummets.

“Dwight?”

It’s Claudette, she sees him on the floor hugging his knees; a concerned look on her face. Dwight sniffs and squeezes himself in an attempt to disappear. He can’t have her see him like this. What does she think of him? Claudette sits next to him, her knees touch him. The warmth she provides is nice. She doesn’t say anything. Dwight peeks up at her, and she grabs him putting him in a hug just like his mom used to give...before. He returns the hug and they both sit there, the trees offering protection from prying eyes.

Slowly, the loneliness ebbs away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwight: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gyi3N-y-GM4


	14. Hired Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tumble turns into trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwight is naughty!
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy? Any mistakes pm me and I'll do my best to fix it!

Dwight yelps, and harshly prodded Feng’s side. The gamer girl releases a similar yelp and glares at him. Neither backdown, the heated stare down brings in others. Claudette looking so done with their shit, Nea egging them on, and Quentin, the silent sleepy boy, smiling at their childish actions.

“Don’t pull on my nips Feng, they’re sensitive!” Dwight growls. He rubs his chest, wanting the sting to go down a bit. Feng just narrows her eyes.

“Well, don’t use my shit, BOTTOM!” Feng screeches. Her small form huffs, annoyance is radiating from her, like an angry Pomeranian.

Ignoring that blow at his ego. He wasn’t a bottom. He was a SWITCH! Little shit! “How was I supposed to know it was yours, it was on the ground during the trial, you MIDGET!!!” The item in question is a Ranger Med-Kit. The rare item was dropped when they went against Leatherface. And that was a scary trial. Getting slammed with a chainsaw was not fun, especially when his guts were shredded by said weapon. That was peak agony. But, he's getting ahead of himself. Beca---

Feng tackles him to the ground, Nea whoops at the escalation, Claudette pinches her brow, and Quentin nodded off during the short time. Air leaves him, but it comes back just as quickly because he gasps as Feng’s soft, feminine hands start tugging on his buds, causing warm sparks of pleasure to trail down and cause his dick to twitch. “Feng!”

“You owe me!” She sits on his stomach, light and petite. She narrows her eyes at the faint blush across Dwight’s cheeks. He meets her gaze then looks away. The bastard is getting turned on, and she thought Nea was insatiable. “That shit was expensive, and the add-ons too”

“How about next time you, GIT GUD!!” Dwight snarks, gritting his teeth. The constant tugging and twisting are making him aroused, but he doesn’t want to focus on that now. How's that you shit monkey! Not fun having your little remark used back at you. He smirks at her, her eyes twitch. His smirk widens.

“Why you!” Feng snarls, and it looks like she wants to do something else with how she keeps eyeing his chest. The ‘M’ glares back at her, she huffs and gets off. Dwight aroused and surprised, sits up to see Feng head back to Nea. The street-artist looks back at him, grinning. “C’mon Nea, It’s not worth it.” Feng tosses over her shoulder, eyeing Dwight on the floor with something similar to disdain. Nea nods and looks back at Dwight throwing a peace sign at the pseudo leader. “Later, Bottom!” The two girls leave, snickering along the way.

Dwight growls but doesn’t say anything. He looks at his chest, the nipples are swollen and red. Claudette comes and sits down. She has a Med-kit on her lap and opens it. Pulling out the ointment and with a look a Dwight, lathers ointment on his abused nipples.

“That was something.” Claudette starts, delicately putting the ointment around the buds. They look a little better, less swollen than before.

“Yea, no shit.” Dwight sighs, the instant relief betters his mood. He flagged to half-mast when Feng hopped off of him. Arms circle around him and he leans back into the embrace. “Thanks.”.

“No problem,” Claudette says as they sat together for a while. The cackling of the fake fire continues on, Quentin snores mingle in the air softly. Though, the boy abruptly wakes, slaps himself and looks at the two of them. He slides closer to them, looking a little unnerved.

Probably Freddy, that bastard. Claudette opens an arm to the teen, and he accepts it. Dwight smiles at him and Quentin smiles back.

They wait until they’re pulled away from the campfire and into a trial.

~~

“Fuck!” Dwight sprints as soon as the rapid pace of the killer comes around the corner. He, Claudette, and Jeff split as soon as the red light becomes bright and the killer’s heart becomes too loud. It’s the fucking Legion. He hasn’t gone against them in a while. Of course, like he didn’t have to deal with enough, now killer teenage angst is after his ass. Not this time.

A pallet is just ahead, the swish of a knife missing makes his legs push against the ground harder and he grips the hardwood and slams it down. A resounding groan echoes back, and he turns around. Feeling a little bold, he clicks the sports flashlight into the killer's masked face. The mask is etched in its goofy grin, but he can feel the annoyance just radiating off the killer. Three generators ping, loud and obnoxious. Well, to the killer at least. Dwight feels very VERY smug that his friends are rushing to get this trial over and done with. 

The Legion growls and stomps hard on the pallet. With two very swift hits, it's broken. But Dwight was already halfway through blinding the killer and running off. 

The Legion shouts in anger, “YOU SHITTY FUCK!!!”. Dwight snickers, running off to a generator. The light pole a signal against the tall stalks of corn in the Coldwind Farms. Its pistons churning loud against the eerie place; it’s almost done. He repairs the generator, a twist of a bolt here and a simple spark between two wires there. It’s all muscle memory, and very therapeutic, for all things considered. With a final placement of a screw, the generator rings on. The light shines down and a scream is heard around the map. Someone went down. He can see where his fellow survivor was downed and makes his way slowly to them. The thumping heartbeat drums loudly in his ear, but he takes a deep breath and calms his nerves. A sickening squelch of muscle tearing and an agony wail makes Dwight’s heart clench. He never liked hearing his friends in pain, especially when they manage to get mori'd in front of his very eyes. The heartbeat fades away and he comes out to catch sight of Jeff hanging limply, groans of pain leaving him. The Legion is next to him, watching the man on the hook. 

Dwight narrows his eyes, of course, the fucker would be camping. With a sigh, he gathers a rock from the ground and throws it away from the killer and Jeff. It makes contact, and the killer turns towards it. They tilt their head and prowl over there, knife raised and ready to spill blood.

“Fucker.” Dwight quips, walking to the fluffy man hanging. He firmly grasps the man, ignoring the pain whimpers leaving the man’s mouth, and unhooks him. Jeff gives him a sincere smile, making Dwight flush red, and runs away. The hook that was previously gouging the man breaks apart and the Legion comes back, rushing in and locks their attention and fury on the idiotic man who stayed still. Dwight clicks the flashlight again, just to dignify an angry snarl from the killer. His self-preservation has been non-existent ever since his fifth death. So eat his heart out!

The final generator signal the end of this trial and the exit gates powered on, Dwight’s smug face quickly changed to one of ‘oh shit’ as the killer had an extra burst of speed and buried the knife deep in his gut. He collapsed on the ground, on his stomach. He clutches the ground as blood spills out.

No-One Escapes Death is such a fucking BITCH!

That’s what you get for being a little shit. His mind reprimands. What, did you think you were Nea? Idiot. Dwight huffs in disappointment at himself and not being as fast as he could be. Bill’s teaching is all for naught when he acts like a dumbass. The killer walks up to his prone form, they look extremely happy at getting rid of him. Whatever. Just hook him already. His team already left.

The Legion kicks him onto his back, he clenches his teeth. It seems like this fucker wants to play with him before he dies. He isn’t going to give them the satisfaction of--

“WHAT THE FUCK!!?” Dwight screeches as a shoe steps light on his clothed dick. The mini-me has the audacity to twitch at the pressure. 

The Legion laughs at him, their voice light and mocking. It sounds male, and young too. Confirming his theory about them being teens. As if the clothing choice wasn’t a big give away. He starts to rub his foot on Dwight’s cock, putting more pressure when Dwight begins to squirm away.“If Evan didn’t want you so bad, I wouldn’t mind keeping you for myself” He says, changing up the amount of pressure he gives. Dwight whines, it hurts but it’s a very delicious pressure and his balls are heavy and ready to be drained. His hips begin to push up into the foot, his dick rubbing against the shoe makes him moan. “Fuck yea, take it, bitch.” The killer growls.

Dwight shouldn’t be doing this. As much as it pains him, he slowly stops humping the foot and exhales slowly. Dwight can’t keep on giving into his stupid dick. As it seeps pre-come through his thong, begging for release, Dwight doesn’t do anything. Just waits. To bleed out hopefully.

The Legion tilts his head, studying Dwight and his sudden stop. “What’s wrong?” He taunts, pressing harder on Dwight’s junk. Dwight’s left eye twitch, but he still remains silent. The killer starts getting frustrated at the survivor below him. He crouches over Dwight, and brings out his Hunting Knife and waves it over Dwight's face. Dwight stares back, unimpressed. It irks the killer, and he jams the knife into Dwight's shoulder. Dwight’s face scrunches up for a split second, only to default back to his unimpressed face. Like hell, the little slut can ignore a man like him. He’s Frank Morrison, a pencil push like Dwight can’t hold a candle up to him. “Keep it up, and I’ll gouge your eyes out.” He growls into Dwight’s ears. “Fuck what Evan says.” He yanks the knife out, blood flows out of the wound.

Dwight, never one to not dig his own grave, decides to poke danger straight in its fucking eye. “Are you done?” He yawns. The blood loss makes him sleepy, but he fucking YAWNED. Why does he feel so snarky today? Maybe because of Feng? Yea its cuz of the little bitch…

Frank cannot believe the balls on this fucker. How dare he! HOW! DARE! HE! Oh, he’ll regret making a fool out of him. “You little bitch!” Frank bellows, and he punches Dwight in the face. The man head knocks to the side, the world goes black and he is out like a light.

Frank huffs, anger flooding his system. When he manages to calm down, he roughly slaps the survivors face a couple of times. When nothing but a groan comes out, he gets up and hauls the man over his shoulder. He’s got a delivery to drop off.

Still feeling a little bit of anger, he slaps Dwight ass. Very hard. The ass jiggles and Frank groans. That was hot. He does it again, Dwight shifts, and then he stops.

Stupid fucking survivor. Stupid fucking Evan.

He’s hard as a rock when he crosses the exit gates threshold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwight's Nipples: *exists*
> 
>  
> 
> Feng: It's Free Relastate.
> 
>  
> 
> Also,
> 
> Frank has a superiority complex, Dwight has dealt with enough assholes to not feel threatened by it.


	15. Duos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waiting is boring.

There are voices mumbling above him. His eyes are heavy and his face is throbbing in pain. Dwight let’s out a groan and the voices stop at that. He is on his stomach, further making his face ache.

Blinking his eyes open, he sees four different people. They all look to be young teenagers, save for the man in the middle. He looks older but not by much. Now, he would know which survivors were new or not. He is the ‘leader’ of all the survivors. And while some days he wishes he wasn’t; The others always come to him when they need a new strategy to try out. Something other than gen rushing and being cautious. All those years being a wallflower helped him scout and be unnoticeable.

As he was thinking, these people are NEW. And if he hasn’t seen them before they must be killers. Or not. Gosh, would it be rude to accuse someone you just met as a killer? Yea, definitely.

The group quickly scrambles, each letting out a different creative curse. What they were reaching for, Dwight doesn’t know. Speaking of not knowing, he doesn’t know where the hell he is.

The place is rather old. There are old pieces of furniture and a fireplace surrounding them. A counter near a set of double doors gives this place an inn vibe. Almost similar to Mount Ormond Resort. This must be where they stay in, just like how Evan had his house. He sits up and winces, his ass burns. As a matter of fact, it is throbbing with an ache that causes pleasant trills of warmth in his lower abdomen. Not now dick! He decides to sit on his knees, it doesn’t aggravate the ache as much so he sighs in relief. 

Dwight looks at the killer now that they assembled themselves. Each one had a sort of pose, it seems they want to be intimidating. It does the opposite. Dwight starts cackling, they flinch and seem angry. Dwight wheezes and gasps for breath. They seem like total dweebs, and that is saying something.

“Great, He’s laughing at us. I knew those poses were retarded, Joey!” A girl grumbles. She walks away looking really fed up with all of this. Another girl, with pink dyed tips of hair, trails after her. She stops to look at Dwight and tilts her. Dwight, still recovering from his little episode, waves. The girl jerks and quickly scurries back to where the other girl went. Leaving Dwight with the remaining two members of the room.

The taller man, who must be ‘Joey’, slumps in disappointment. Clearly, he thought they were cool, and that makes Dwight kinda bad for laughing, but he was kidnapped. So screw him!

The other man nearby stares at Dwight, and Dwight knows that this is the bastard that knocked him out. There is a trail of blood that looks fairly recent on his mask. Exactly where he spit in his juvenile (read: Justified) defiance. Dwight feels smug about that, though his face had begun to ache even more after that. So he schools his face into one of indifference. The kind that any customer can project whatever emotion they want. Or killer in this instance.

It causes a reaction.

A violent one.

Dwight is tackled back onto the ground, a knife is placed against his neck. Huffs of air coming from the killer make Dwight smile. The knife is pressed into his skin. It stings, but the smile is still staying.

“Frank!” Joey screams, quickly rushing to them. He fidgets, not knowing whether to separate them or continue watching. “Evan said not to damage the goods, bro” Joey places a hand, but Frank shrugs him off. The knife is gone, but he is still straddling Dwight. This man seems to have anger issues, maybe even worse than the Trapper. Dwight muses then hums.

“Fuck off Joe, Don’t act so innocent. You smacked his ass as well” Frank spits out, not looking at his fellow killer. Joey looks embarrassed, he rubs his hands together and glances at me. Dwight stares him down and he flinches away. No wonder his ass felt like molten lava was poured on him. They must have been at it for a while.

“This is all fine and dandy,” Dwight begins. “But get the fuck off of me you, clod” cLoD? Way to copy Feng dumbass!

Joey giggles and from what Dwight can tell, this makes Frank more frustrated. The man shifts forward. He is now on Dwight’s chest, making him struggle to breathe properly. Legs trap his arms and he is at the killer’s mercy. Franks groin is in his face, it smells musky. Dwight pointedly shifts his face so it won’t be. A rough hand grabs his hair and smashes his face against the material of Frank’s pants. Now Dwight can get a better smell, and it...isn’t entirely unpleasant. Like pine, and sweat. Still, rude. He thinks of biting down. It's tempting when the fucker starts to chuckle.

“A slut like you should keep your mouth shut!” Frank growls, begin to hump against Dwight’s face. It causes the leader's glass to be askew and shortly after fall away. “As a matter of fact, I just know a way to keep a slut like you quiet.” The killer unfastens the button and unzipped his jeans, Dwight starts squirming. Body going numb because of the weight being put on him. Franks cock jumps out, it’s… short. A little smaller than Dwight’s. It’s unimpressive. No wonder he’s so aggressive. Gotta compensate for something. Dwight snorts. A swift slap across his face makes him hiss out in pain. Frank takes advantage and shoves his cock in Dwight’s mouth. It slides in, Dwight’s nose rests against the pubes of the killer. He inhales the scent and lets out a soft moan. The cock barely hits the back of his throat, but it causes Dwight to swallow reflexively. Frank groans, loud and appreciatively. He starts to grind against Dwight’s mouth, spittle flows out obscenely. His dick spews pre-come down Dwight’s mouth and into his throat.

“Ohhh, yea. Could just tell you were a cock slut.” Frank grins and thrusts sharply. The slick squelch of skin sliding against skin resonates in the air. His grin widens when Dwight just takes it without gagging. “Joey, use his hands!” Frank tells the man, who was secretly trying to palm his dick at the scene before him. He jumps and quickly makes his way to Dwight’s left hand. He makes eye contact with Dwight, who just stares at him unimpressed. Joey hesitates and looks at Frank. He watches Frank eagerly rock his hips, and spew filthy words at Dwight for a few minutes. His face flushes red. “Are...are you sure this is okay?” He questions, his hands on his own pants. He fiddles with the hem of his pants. “Evan said not to do anything stupid and this seems pretty stupid. Messing with someone's man, I mean.” 

“What Evan doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, we got a couple of hours ‘til he comes to collect his toy.” Frank grunts and clenches a fist in Dwight’s hair. He moves the head as he thrusts, reaching as far as he can down that wet heat. He’s getting close. Really close. 

“If you say so, dude.” With that Joey quickly shucks his pants and underwear off. His cock twitches against the air, the head glistening with pre-come. He moves closer to Dwight’s hand and softly grasps it. He traces the lines of the palm and quietly comments “Dude, your hands are soft” The teen spits on his dick, slathering it up and places his dick on the hand. When he wraps the fingers around the shaft, he groans.

Dwight knows his cock is hard and standing at attention. The rough, face-fucking is making his body heat up. He wants to come. He wants this to be done already. He begins pumping Joeys cock in his hand. Taking care to rub at the sensitive head and smirks at Joey's little keen of pleasure. He rubs faster, going at different speeds when Joey begins to lose himself in the pleasure. For Frank, he starts to suck when the cock slides out and swallow when it reaches the back of his mouth. Making the man above him groan loudly. The filthy words tumbling out of his mouth makes Dwight cherry red. 

“Fucking swallow it,” Frank demands as he pushes deep and unloads in Dwight’s mouth. Frank’s dick spurts out a few drops. And he sags with relief, pleasure making him boneless. Dwight is kinda mad he didn’t get a lot. It's not like when Michael finished. Now, that was A LOT. He is disappointed. Figures. Joey moans and cums painting Dwight’s hand as he huffs for air. The amount that he let out is more than Frank. Disappointing indeed. He dick is hard

He whines around the dick getting soft in his mouth. Frank hisses and slips his dick out with a plop. Sticky trails of saliva connect them. Frank chuckles at Dwight’s still flushed face. He stares at those plush lips, red and swollen from him. Man, this guy knows how to suck a dick.

Frank notices Dwight moving his hips and it comes to him that a man like Dwight would want to get off as well. Feeling generous, he sits on the man's cock. He grinds his ass against it, watching as Dwight keens and arches his back up. The way his sweat makes his skin glisten against the lights. Man, that’s hot. Frank pushes back against Dwight's thrusts. Dwight moans and closes his eyes tightly. 

“That’s it. Come for me like a good slut.” Frank says. He presses back harder, and Dwight comes. He comes in his thong, it seeps the material and starts to leak out. Getting on Franks jeans, and spilling out on the floor. Dwight chest heaves. He shudders, as he dick releases. When it's over, Dwight sags back against the floor and fixes his glasses. 

He feels like he should be mad at himself, but he doesn’t care at the moment. His ears pick up a low drum of white noise. Then a wave of electricity makes them all scream out.

The Doctor is here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heheheh >:3c


	16. Scarlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight gets out of the frying pan and into the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case I'm not going to be lazy in the future:
> 
> **_Bold, Italicized words_** are killer thoughts.
> 
> _Italicized words_ are Dwight's thoughts.

It all happens chaotically.

The two members of Legion scramble. Their dicks flopping as they get out of range from another wave of electricity. Dwight is left to scramble away as well, screaming as the madness begins to claw at his mind. Great, this is even more hilarious. Dwight laughs but soon stops because of the giddy manic giggles of the Doctor ring out in the resort. Why can’t he catch a break? Flutters of stray electricity coils around him. Warm and surprisingly pleasant. _That can’t be good._ His body convulses in pleasure. Ohh...

Julie and Susie come racing out of their room, makeshift knives raised. A figure blurs right at them, they barely dodge the swing of a motorized drill bit. The Pig. Her carcass mask stark against the two simplistic ones of the Legion. What the fuck is she doing here?

“What the shit is this!?” Comes Julie’s angered yell. She retaliates back at the Pig, nicking her shoulder. The Pig lets out a squeal of pain and rams her shoulder into Julie, it causes her to lose her balance. The Pig dashes with intent to maim and kill, similar in how she would with Dwight and his friends. Susie quickly jumps on her back, stabbing quick and hard. Shoulders, neck, back. More anguished squeals echo out, and with a mighty heave, Susie is grabbed by the hair and gets slammed on the ground. Her groans of pain make Dwight wince in sympathy. He should not feel bad for the killers, but seeing someone as young as her makes his heart squeeze.

Then, with the drill bit whirring loud in the air, the Pig skewers her drill bit through Susie's chin. It exits out through her left eye, bits of muscle and blood flying out. A dying gurgle and Susie is dead. Body limp and cooling in the air.

“YOU CUNT!!” Julie screeches and throws herself at the Pig. The two of them grapple, snarls and curses shared between them. They roll out of sight, leaving Dwight in shock.

_Oh fuck._ Dwight steps back. He needs to get the hell out of here. Now that everyone is distracted. Seeing his friends die is horrible. Seeing the killers kill each other is something else entirely. Even if they all come back(killers included) after being eviscerated repeatedly in a number of ways, Dwight still has to struggle to keep from gagging at the viscera. _Don’t think about it just go. Gogogogo!_

Dwight heads to the doors only to scream as more electricity causes his muscles to spasm. He falls to his knees, the deranged laughter is closer now, he looks up and the Doctor is standing tall in front of him. The killers trusty spiked baton clasped in his hands. Dwight yells and scrambles away. A head phases through the Doctor. It’s… another one. Dwight rubs his eyes, and the previous mirror image disappears. Oh man, his mind is fucking with him. 

The real Doctor stands proud. Grinning harshly.

“Ooh, look at you.” He gushes and steps closer to Dwight. Dwight scoots back. Each step the Doctor takes electricity billows out on the wooden floor, slithering its way to Dwight’s body. It stops short every time. Like a tease. More like an unwanted touch by an older family member ...“Such a fitting outfit for my little lab bunny.”

“Like hell!” Dwight gets up and readies himself. The Doctor widens his eyes(more than they already are with the clamps) and chuckles. “You guys need to leave me the hell alone. It’s annoying” He hisses. _Can he actually defend himself? Yes, all he needs to do is remember is training with Bill._

“Why would I ever do that?” The killer starts to circle Dwight, a Predator sizing up prey. “When you give the most splendid reactions like a good little test subject.” He stops behind him, Dwight turns around fast. Not trusting his back towards him at all. More electricity surges with the killer's laughter. His muscles tense in pain, but it’s quickly soothed by pleasure light up his nerves. 

“How the hell did you know I was here?” Dwight demands, shivering as another wave of tingling electricity caresses his body. He’s getting aroused, standing at a half chub, and it isn’t ideal for the situation.

“My dear friend Evan isn’t very smart.” The Doctor barbs. He cracks his neck, his eyes flutter shut at the feeling. _Gross._ “Especially, if he thought asking mere children could help obtain you.”

Dwight huffs, displeased with everything at the moment. Out of the corner of his eye, Dwight sees Frank and Joey come around the Doctors backside. Both look bloodied and beat up. Joey’s left arm hangs limp. Dislocated. Frank is quiet even when his leg is shattered. The bone sticks out of the skin and managed to tears through the material of his pants. _Shouldn’t the killers be on good terms with each other?_

The Electric wielding psycho watches him. His eyes roam over his body. His deranged sight takes in the ears that twitch at every little buzz of electricity he gives off. **_Interesting, seems the Entity gifted him that._** The Doctor slowly drifts down, and he growls angrily when he notices the scar on his chest. **_So, someone else gifted him that too._** His hands clench tight over his baton, Dwight cries out and falls to his knees again. Eyeing Dwight on the floor, he can see the coy themed thong. His shapely legs contrasting the boring floor. He licks his teeth. **_Oh, the tests his little bunny will go through._** But first. 

**__****_ _ **

**__****_ _ **

__“It seems that man managed to lay his filthy hand my little subject?” The Doctor shakes his head disappointment. “Oh well, I knew that you were intriguing when I saw you in that office. Seems like others had the same idea.” Genuine laughter comes out of the killer as he raises his weapon. “I’ll just have to punish you accordin----!!!”_ _

__Frank stabs the taller man in the side multiple times. Each hit digging deep into muscles. He dodges the swing of the baton at his head. Lands another deep wound into the Doctors calf. His body lights up. Electricity swarming him like fire ants. His screech of pain is throaty and cuts off when his vocal cords melt. He drops to the ground. Fried. Joey darts to the Doctor. Hitting home and stabbing various places. Until the Doctor rams the pike end of his weapon through his skull. The body twitches, scrabbling to pull the offending object out. The hand falls, and the victorious killer yanks the baton with a loud squelch. Blood is everywhere._ _

__The haggard breaths of the Doctor make Dwight refocus. He doesn’t look too well. Various stab wound leak blood freely, he favors his uninjured leg. The killer hobbles over to him, blood coming out of his lips as a wet chuckle leaves them. “Should’ve killed those little shits when I had the chance.” He croaks. The killer is about a foot away from Dwight._ _

__He then drops to his knees and falls. Blood pools around his body. Silence. The wind from the storm outside the only ambient noise._ _

___Is...is he dead?_ Dwight makes his way over there cautiously. He grabs the metal baton, wincing at the weight, and pokes the body like one would a frog._ _

__Nothing. Another poke. A twitch._ _

__Dwight screams and runs back. The body remains still. _Oh, it was just the body’s nerves._ The nervous man giggles, hysterical. “What the fuck…” He whispers. He catches his breath and looks around. Corpses are strewn across the floor. Blood everywhere. The metallic scent stings his eyes. He scrubs his face, flakes of blood coming off from being within splash distance he guesses. A battle was fought here. He is the only one alive. Is it bad that he is happy? Happy that people killed each other for him?_ _

__With a few slaps against his face to reorient himself, Dwight steps away from the Doctors body and out the lobby's doors. The snow pitters against his face, clinging to his glasses. The cold is harsh, but it's better than being inside with corpses. Besides, Evan was coming so he had to make his way back to the campfire. He picks a direction and heads that way. His boots crunch in the snow, the quiet is nice. Dwight stops and changes direction. If he’s followed hopefully his tracks get covered up. He continues on._ _

__~~~_ _

__Dwight stops for a rest. He’s been walking for the past hour or so. He has to be far away from the Resort. But he’s lost. The snow had thickened making everything look the same. And his body began to shiver uncontrollably. His ears picked up the sound of deep breathing too late, his body exhausted from the day's events._ _

__A hand lifts him up by the neck, he chokes, kicking his tired legs against a sturdy frame. A face as white as the snow greets him. The breathing turns excited, the hand squeezes tighter. Black spots fill in from the edges of his eyes. He’s knocked out once again._ _

__

__He is carried away._ _

__

__~~~_ _

__Evan reaches the front door of the Resort. He brought his clever in case the kids became difficult. Behind him is Phillip, a silent backup. He pushes open the doors and makes his way in._ _

__“What the **fuck?!!** ”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: ooh boy, I am done with writing for a while!
> 
> College: SURPRISE MOTHAFUCKA
> 
> Me:


	17. To Own.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight: I'm leaving!!
> 
> The Shape: Say sike right now!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really admire those who can write lengthy chapters. I struggle with reaching my set quota of 1.5k words. But for this chapter please accept 3 k words.
> 
> I also really admire those who can write good smut. Although you guys don't deserve trash, please accept my trashy attempt at writing S M U T.
> 
>  
> 
> (Please note there is bound to be mistakes littered around in this whole entire story.)

Dwight opens his eyes to darkness. From the bright white of the snow to the harsh darkness of the room, it makes him wince. Not only from his eyes adjusting to the low visibility but also from the headache that's currently pulsing in his head. 

He is laying on a bed, its old frame wooden frame creaks when he leans on his elbows to try and see what's around him. The mattress smells of mothballs and mold, making him sneeze. Sniffling, he moves to get off the bed. The springs creak loudly in the room. He pauses. His ears don’t pick up any movement. Dwight is happy to know that he isn’t restrained in any fashion. Dumbasses. Just like them to underestimate us. He lets a small grin graced his face and gets off. The room is decaying. What was once a standard bedroom now has the wallpaper peeling off in certain parts of the wall; it’s floral pattern faded with age. Peonies... The Floorboards are missing in certain places and broken ones are lying around. Their sharp edges remind him of splinters under his fingernails. He cringes hard and looks for a way out. The entrance to this room has no door. The doorway leads to even more darkness. Figures hide in the dark, and Dwight can feel eyes on him. Everywhere. He is alone in this room, which means Michael left him here. Either the killer is confident in his ability or dumb.

Dwight goes with dumb, considering that he isn’t tied up. It’s almost as if Michael wants him to leave. Wants him to run. Wants to hunt him down. His tall figure, and broad shoulders. The overwhelming strength to just stab through someone with no remorse. The taste of his cock on the back of his tongue, mixing with the bitter taste of his seed.

After talking with Laurie, he felt utterly disgusted with himself. Dwight first warned Claudette of which direction he is going and how long she should wait for him and took off. He found a secluded spot in the forever repeating forest, the fog offering cover, and slipped off the slutty thong, twisted his body and assaulted his prostate with his whole hand. Another jar of Retardant Jelly helps ease the process... It hurt, he ever tried to fist himself before, the images of Michael propelled him forward past this. Very quickly, the pain gave way to pleasure as he pressed hard and fast against the pleasurable bundle of nerves deep in his ass. The sounds of Michaels balls slapping against his chin as he just took and took. When he unloaded down his throat forcing him to swallow. How he was about to go again until Laurie interrupted him made Dwight come again. His seed spilled onto the tree he was leaned on. The seed seeped into the bark, strange and so unreal, yet Dwight didn’t care. All he could think about was the fragments of a sweaty abdomen tensing, and the smell of the rich musk.

He still can’t look Laurie in the eyes. Eyes darting away every time, red gracing his face as he fumbles his words whenever she comes to talk to him. Dwight gets the feeling she knows. She is very perceptive.

Dwight’s dick hardens at the mere notion of being taken by Michael. He heads for the doorway instead of encouraging those types of thoughts. Maybe in another time, when he wasn’t forced to endure these trials and when Michael wasn’t a known killer. But that’s wishful thinking. 

Just one step away from the bed and a hand grab his leg. The grip is very strong, like solid steel clamps. It came out from beneath the bed. Dwight’s heat stops at the very sudden and unexpected contact, a small yelp escaping his lips. He twists his body to look back at the bed. Tendrils of cold dread running down his spine as slowly, another hand emerges from the darkness beneath his bed. This hand holds the knife, its big silhouette undeniable in the low visibility of the room. Next, the upper body of Michael slithers out. Then the rest of him. The killer stands at his full imposing height. Dwight is held in the air. Michael never let go of his leg when he came out from underneath the bed.

Seeing Michael upside is disorienting. The mask is somewhat easier to see, but the eyeless voids baring into his own are not a pleasant sight. He can’t see the very faint edges of actual eyes anymore. He looks like his sleep paralysis demons, tall and imposing. Leaving fear to jumpstart his body. Dwight begins to wiggle like a worm on a hook. Tempting any predator to come and take a bite. But he quickly stops at the sharp sting of the knife brushing against his soft stomach. He gets the threat. Dwight takes deep breaths to slow his racing heart. There is nothing to be scared of. He faces death time and time again He faces Michael… a handful of times. It’s only recently when his behavior has changed. From imposing killer to imposing killer that wants to fuck. Whatever happened to the absurd normality of the trails? Dwight is barely comprehending it all. The ‘leader’ hangs there limp and waiting for this deranged killer to do something. All the staring is making him extremely anxious.

The Shape’s breathing had been steadily increasing the longer he held Dwight. Michael treads over to the entrance of the room and flicks on a light switch. Immediate bright light fills Dwight’s eyes and he squints. The room looks even more horrible now with the soft light. Dwight gets tossed onto the bed he had left, a heavyweight quickly following right after.

Strong hands quickly grab Dwight’s. Restraining him against the bed, Dwight gulps, arousal pools down south. The roughness is stirring his loins, making his dick twitch against the killer’s Michael moves his masked face closer to Dwight. He turns his face away, squeezing his eyes shut and huffing. Michael noses his neck, inhaling the scent of the young man beneath him. He places the mouth of the mask in a mock kiss. He slips his tongue between the slit of the mask’s mouth and licks a broad wet stripe up Dwight’s neck. Dwight shivers at the wetness and moans as Michael bits down. Hard enough that Dwight grits his teeth. Beads of blood spill down and are quickly licked up by the Shapes tongue. Heavy pants cool the spit left by. Michael backs off to continue his starring of Dwight. The killer places a hand against the bite mark he left, blood starts to cover his fingertips. Dwight’s heart races at the touch and it must please him. A strange sound comes out of the shape, it is low and rumbling. Almost like words, but it fades off to indiscernible noise. Dwight peeks a look at Michael and can see him looking down and tracing the jagged scar that he left. He strokes it soft and tender like, almost admiring it. Michael glances at the other untouched pectoral. A small nod and Michael reaches back for his big kitchen knife. It hovers over for a bit, about to sink into flesh and carv--

“Don’t” Dwight heaves out. The survivor had been holding his breath as he was watching this all go down. The hand stops, the Shape looks back at him. Back to his flushed face. He peers through Dwight. Dwight's brain wracks up in anxiety, words tumble out of him before he can think about it. 

“I’m not some toy you can mark. I’m not yours” Dwight snaps his jaw shut, teeth clicking loudly in the room. His heart is beating loudly in his ears as Michael stills. No movement whatsoever like a marble statue.

Then he clenches the knife in his hand tightly, the wooden handle splinters under the strength. The Shape gets a hold of his neck, squeezing slightly in anger, he brings his masked face closer. Breathing kicking up in anger and slowly digs the knife into flesh. Dwight can’t look away as the eyeless gaze bores into his. He whimpers and hears a hitch in Michael. The knife lifts, scarlet drips down the tip. Dwight feels his chest sting in the open air. Michael places the knife down on the bed and brings a hand to the new mark. He smears the blood down, allows it to cover his palm. Michael brings the bloody hand to Dwight's lips, fingers pushing against tightly closed lips. When Dwight still refuses to open up, he squeezes hard on the man's neck, forcing his fingers inside the hot wet mouth as Dwight squeaks. 

The tang of copper on his tongue makes Dwight scrunch up his nose. The fingers wriggle around in his mouth, nudging against his teeth and rubbing against his tongue. Making the taste last longer. They move in further back, tracing the edges of where mouth fades into throat than leave. Strings of saliva break when they get farther away from Dwight’s mouth.

Michael lifts his mask and shoves his fingers in his mouth. He slurps obscenely, lips full lips clinging onto like a lifeline, stubble chin moving subtly. Dwight stares at those lips, imagining them wrapping around his cock, like pillows. He moans at the thought of fucking into the mouth of a killer, getting his pleasure for once. It’s a very hot image. His dick is still hard despite all the carving, shows how it’s a traitor. The Shape lets go of his throat, still lathering up his fingers as he grabs the knife in the other hand. He trails it down his stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and stops at the base of his dick. It twitches restrained in the fabric, a pearl of pre-come seeping through the cloth. Dwight hitches in his throat. 

A quick tug, the knife cuts the thong likes its butter. Dwight’s cock springs up. It’s a brilliant shade of red, the spongey head slick with the amount of precome Dwight produces. Michael drops the knife on the bed and uses the hand he was licking to grab at the cock bared before him. The wet, rough hand feels like silk against Dwight’s weeping dick. Michael pumps the length, no hesitation. Dwight moans and twitches his hips into that nice warm hand. He is embarrassingly getting real close to coming. Any touch wanted or not makes his body sensitive. And a handjob from a knife-wielding maniac doesn’t even make him soft. Instead, it makes his dick weep move, clear liquid mixing with the blood, the spit, and making the hand slide faster. A squeeze and Dwight tenses, his balls tighten as he shoots his spunk into the air. It lands everywhere. On his stomach, his glasses, the bed, and pools around Michaels's hand. Dwight is panting, shying away behind his hands as Michael resumes his habitual stare down. 

More deep hoarse rumbling. Dwight looks at the Shape. The big man is licking up his seed on his hand slowly. The tongue not leaving any spot left untouched, a bit of it is on the corners of Michaels's mouth. White against the stubble and Dwight swallows hungrily. What would Michael if he got up and licked it off? Would he stare? Probably. An aborted little twitch from his cock drags Michaels attention away from his suckling. The face is staring, mouth licking away the stray cum, he moves closer to Dwight. Michael collects the leftover cum cooling on Dwight’s body, his tongue scooping up the salty drops of seed around his stomach. When he is done. He moves and kisses Dwight. Well, a kiss is a light word for what it is. More like a tongue hungrily being shoved in. Making Dwight taste himself, not a first that’s for sure, gliding over his teeth, and quickly dominating his tongue. Dwight moaned into the kiss. Another kiss stolen from a different killer. He isn’t so sure if he is happy or not. But Michael quickly breaks it off and sits back up. 

The silent killer familiarly unzips his jumpsuit. Those muscles Dwight had starring in his masturbation sessions in clear view. They ripple with movement, hard and hiding raw strength that has killed many. He shucks the clothing right off his statue-like body. Oh shit, those legs. His legs are thick with strong muscles. Wide as they force Dwight’s soft ones to open and make room when Michael gets closer. That same cock which ravished his throat, shining with the slick precome. Dwight swallows the drool welling up in his mouth.

Michael brings a hand down to his bud. It flutters at the touch, circling the rim. It dips in, pushing past that ring of muscle, a low growl comes from the killer. Michael quickly takes it out and begins lubing them up with spit. Should’ve known to bring that jelly. Dwight watches on, letting out a keen as Michael puts in two thick fingers in. Dwight gasps and twitches at the pleasure that blooms underneath those fingers. They twist and scissor their way in and brush against his prostate. A moan and another growl answers back. Michael spits more into his hand and adds more fingers, Dwight’s rim stretched obscenely as it tries to greedily swallow the whole hand. Dwight feels full, his hand isn’t as large as this killer. It aches so well. Moans flow out as Michael pops his hand inside. The hand is over the prostate and starts to dig into it. Dwight screams, cock spray fluid out on himself. So good. 

Michael drags his hand out, so quick Dwight’s hole plops wetly. Michael lines his eager cock against the puffy rim and plunges in. He hilts in one go. The man's cock just rests a little deeper than his prostate. The Shape doesn’t give time for Dwight to adjust, just pulls out and slams back in. Hands grip tightly on his hips. Nails bite against his skin, leaving red crescent moons. Dwight sobs, his prostate is being rammed nonstop. His cock is back up, throbbing as another orgasm rapidly builds. Michael snarls and grips his neck. Squeezing the air out. Dwight can barely catch his breath, making his senses go haywire. He cums with a croaky scream. 

Michael slams against him, roaring loud it echoes in the room and releases wave after wave of spunk into him. Some run out of him and pools onto the bed. The warm feeling makes Dwight squirms, the suffocating grip went lax and he could breathe better.

Michael is hunched over Dwight panting, hand still gripping the smaller man's hip. He straightens and moves Dwight so he’s on his side. The bigger man lays down behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist as he nestles his face on the crook of Dwight’s shoulder. His breath tickles Dwight’s ears. He shivers at the intimacy of this. Michael relines his cock back against the leaking hole and pushes in. A squelch and he begins like he never stopped. Michael wraps his hand around the half-hard dick of Dwight’s, rubbing in tune with the slap of his hips against Dwight’s ass. Dwight lets out a whine, oversensitive from coming twice in a row. It doesn’t deter Michael if anything it compels him to slam hard and deep into Dwight. Unrelenting against Dwight’s prostate, more grumbles against his ear. It settles into words.

“M...Mine” Michael crowds Dwight more towards his chest.

Dwight's eyes widen at the voice. It’s gritty from years of not being used. He whines as Michael thrusts deeper and stills. The hand gives a shallow pump. Dwight whines and shifts his hips into the hand and back down the cock lodged in his ass. The ache of his loins is loud and clear.

“Sa..say i..it” Michael urges, lips brushing against Dwight’s ears as he waits. Patiently.  
Dwight groans and tries to chase the high of orgasm by himself, but Michael tightens his hold on his cock and locks his legs onto Dwight to make sure he doesn’t get the satisfaction. The thick cock rests against his abused prostate making him squirm. Which in turn makes Michael hunker down tighter. Finally, like the weak-willed coward he is, he cracks.

“I’M YOURS!! I’myoursi’myourspleasemoveplease--” Dwight cries out. He wants to come so badly. It's just right there.

Michael inhales sharply. He starts to position his harder than before hitting deeper than before. He rapidly pumps Dwight’s aching dick, pre-come streaming down as the sound of skin slapping against skin rings loud and clear in the room. 

“Yes! Almost!” Dwight yells, as the pleasure curls tighter and tighter until it snaps and he comes, body twitching with the aftershocks. He slumps back into the heat, body rocking forward as the killer chases his release.

Michael bites down hard. Hard on the junction between neck and shoulder. It muffles the primal growl as he releases into the wet, tight hole. Dwight yelps in pain, but it cuts out shortly when he feels more of the Shapes seed fill him up. Reaching more deeper than the Trapper. His stomach distends a tiny bit. It’s weird. Dwight’s pretty sure no man can come that much. He’s glad he’s isn't a woman. Very, very glad.

Michael doesn’t pull out, he stays inside Dwight like he belongs there and pulls Dwight closer. His breaths even out, becoming almost nonexistent against Dwight’s huffing. Exhaustion makes his eyes heavy. His heart starts to calm down. 

The bigger man would be aghast, fighting against this at every turn, wanting to die, trying to escape by now. But Dwight doesn’t. At this moment he feels content with staying cuddled up with a man who just months ago was slaughtering him like livestock. Taking to the tiny display of affection like a sponge takes to water. Pathetic. This is how he gets hurt. But Dwight is quickly succumbing to sleep.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of the smell flooding the room.

He's out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to go for more but I burnt out my brain because I am 2 dubm 4 witirng. *spazzes out*


	18. Discipline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't act up Dwight!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy.
> 
> If you see them mistakes pm me because a bitch is mad stupid.

When Dwight wakes up, he is almost certain that it was all just a coma induced dream. The doctor comes through the door as he sits up and tells him how he got here and how long he was out. He lets out a sigh of relief, and through the open door come his parents, healthy, not disappointed, and very happy to see him awake. His mom bursts into tears and his father's eyes shines as well. He can finally be free of the torment. Because Dwight has been through a shitty nightmare he thought would never end.

At least that is what he thought would happen. That isn’t what happens. Not in this place.

In his slumber, Dwight can feel warm tingles of pleasure slowly making their way through his body. It begins in his lower abdomen and seeps outwards. His sleep riddled mind doesn’t take notice, too lost in this heartwarming, pleasant dream. A prod against his prostate makes his body twitch. The dream fizzles like static from missing T.V channels. It begins to fade into obscurity, his parents vanish, the room starts to disappear. A more harsh press against the bundle of nerves and he wakes up, laying on his upper back, legs held up by strong, upper arms. His eyes heavy with sleep look around, he locks eyes with Michael’s. The killer stares for a moment. The gaze heavy and hungry, Dwight blinks out the sleep in his eyes. The killers deep pants brush against Dwight’s pucker, it twitches drawing Michaels's attention. A strong, thick tongue laps against the rim, drawing a tired moan from the smaller man. The fuzziness of sleep begins to fade. The arms that wrap themselves around his thighs, pull him closer to that hungry mouth. The tongue delves in, past the ring of muscle and swirls around inside. Lips close around Dwight, a pleasant suction makes his dick twitch. His cock is hard and laying against his stomach, leaving a pool of precome that trickles down his body. The claws of sleep leave him, letting him realize what he’s being woken up to.

Michael’s tongue slips out, cupping an amount of cum. The liquid tips over the edge of the tongue and trickle down his lips. He swallows, cum sliding down his throat. Michael goes back to Dwight’s sloppy hole. Semen trails out and Michael digs in. White frothy trails smear across that stubbled chin. He licks it up and sucks on the rim, growling at the taste of himself. Dwight fidgets, pushing into the tongue. This isn’t what he expected, but then again what else did Michael want to do. Kill him? That would be too easy. Blood swells his cock, the mushroom tip a bright red. He reaches for it, wraps a hand and gets to pump it once before Michael cuts his hand. Knife cutting through skin and muscle fibers. Dwight screams, heart-pounding because his dick was almost lopped off and now his hand smarts very much. Red dripping down in thick rivulets, spreading across the top and dripping down onto the sheets. It was going well until then. He doesn’t want it anymore.

“Fuck off!” Dwight snaps. Angry at this bastard, angry at himself for allowing this killer to kidnap him. He shifts wildly, trying to getaway. The hands only tightened harshly, his bones creak in protest. But it’s nothing compared to the shit he’s been put through. So he continues, against the painful grip, against the lustful killer, and against his hopeful side that needs to die and never come back. This is not a good way to ask for anything relationship-wise, and to allow others this just to feel good for a short while is only hurting himself.

Michael lets out a vicious growl, Dwight gives no mind it. He grabs at the mask when Michael looms over him, all imposing and evil like Laurie said he is. Michael grunts in surprise and snatches Dwight’s hand away. It's too late. The pale-white mask slips off, locks of dirty blond hair flow out covering the Shapes face. A pale eye pins him in place, the milky sclera is strange. But the emotion is similar to what he feels. Anger. And Dwight smiles smugly when he is slammed against the old bed frame. The knife bites into his neck and his smile deepen into a patronizing leer. This just makes the knife dug in deeper, scarlet begins to flow from the wound.

“Do it. You won’t.” Dwight eggs him on. Death is preferable than to be stuck with a killer. Death is better than being alive. It’s something he wants so when Michael only pants furiously and looks really close to doing it. He bares his neck, waiting for the finishing blow so he can just drift into the in-between for a while.

Nothing happens. Dwight looks back at the psychopath, questioning gaze as Michael takes a deep breath in. The knife is drawn back, Dwight sputters angrily. “Do it you--” He’s quickly cut off as Michael flips him on his stomach and forces his weight onto the small leader. Air leaves Dwight’s lungs and he pushes himself on his forearms only to squeak in surprise when a loud smack rings through the air and his ass burns like flaming coals are pressed against them. 

“WhaT?!”

A firm, harder slap is his answer. Dwight clenches his teeth, eyes wide. He can’t move because Michael is sitting on his legs, the weight makes pins and needles spread but it is quickly ignored in favor of another harsh swat at his cheeks. The calloused hand slides across the reddened cheeks and pulls them apart, his hole winks back at Michael and a seed trails out of the rim. Michael hums, deep voice roughened with unuse. It’s hot. It’s annoying. 

“Kill me you fucker!” Dwight snaps, twisting his upper torso to glare at the killer on top of him. He wants out. Wants to lay down and sleep. Hideaway in a locker like he used to, kill a couple of annoying crows. This is shitty.

Michael watches him-- what else is new?-- and two more harsh smacks makes tears well up in Dwight’s eyes. He yelps and flops face-first into the mattress, grunting when Michael mercilessly spanks his ass. The pain flairs and his cock wake back up, pushing against the mattress and leaking. He groans, anger and arousal swirling into a fast vortex in his body. Stupid killers. Stupid dick. Stupid Entity.

This last smack was very hard, Dwight’s spine aches badly. He cries out, tears now sliding down his face as he sniffles. Fuck it was insane. Michael grabs a fistful of hair and tugs, the survivor winces as he is forced to curve backward. His ass is an angry red and still throbs painfully against the strain to his back. Michael places his chin in the crux of his shoulder, shifts himself and slams into Dwight. His cock pierces through the rim of muscle and deep into the wet, heat. Dwight cries out again, as the pace Michael put insane. The spit from earlier had dried and the only little slick is from the leftover jizz inside of him. It is painful, but a small side of him wanted Michael to do this from the very beginning. To take. But Dwight ends that thought with a harsh flick and burrows his face into his arms. No noises for the psychopath, and at least some semblance of control for Dwight’s frayed mind.

Michael thrusts change angle, aiming for his prostate. He hits it with ferocious precision and it drives Dwight crazy, but he still isn’t screaming from pleasure. If anything, he bites his forearm arm that blood gushes into his mouth. Then the fucker smacks his aching ass.  
One hand grips his hips tightly, skin mottled with bruises and little crescent marks. The other smacks him harshly. It cause Dwight to tense, clenching snuggly around Michaels cock nestling deep inside. A loud groan leaves the killer above him and more smacks come. Each hit hard, and fast. Never letting up on the abuse he gets. With a smack, Dwight comes hard, painting the sheets a fresh white as his body shudders with pleasure aftershocks. His ass pulses with his shutters, making Michael slam in a far as he can and spews more hot liquid. Dwight sniffles. Blood, snot, tears, and drool cake his face. 

He’s moved, body limps from being spent. On his back, Dwight stares up into Michael's eyes. Something burns behind them as they roam over his body. Dwight looks away, and Michael pulls out. Semen gushes out, pooling below him. Michael grunts, his stomach clenches and then hot liquid running and sharp. He aims his cock so that his piss covers all of him. It drenches his clothes, bed, it's a sharp smell.

Dwight sees the knife beside him. Michael is too focused on marking him with his scent.

He reaches for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael is freaky!


	19. Why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan angry!
> 
> Teens angsty!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK TWO CHAPTERS!!
> 
> I just wrote so I decided to PLOP them online.

“Let me get this straight” Evan growls. Voice grinding and loud. It booms around the broken lodge. Large hands clench as he paces around the snow lodge in Ormond’s space.

The Legion flinches, each has a different expression on their faces. They took off their masks because Evan threatened to kill them again. 

Susie has dry tear marks on her face, teeth nibbling on her lips. It was her first to die in this realm. Julie is beside her, squeezing her hand reassuringly but still facing towards the man. Joey is fidgeting at the sheer size of Evan. He isn’t used to being around other veteran killers, it’s still a surprise every time he manages to come across one of them. Frank pouts like a petulant child, shoulders hunching as he glares at the floor beneath them.

Wraith is silently observing them from afar, Evan had urged him to survey the perimeter in case the survivor had ended up lost. His search came up fruitless. In a fit of rage, Evan began destroying couches and dismantled the reception counter with a heavy kick. The silent man is there so the older man wouldn’t hurt the other younger teens. At least not at this moment, when there are fresh from the void. Shaken up and pale. Afterward, it’s fair game.

“You manage to capture Dwight as I had asked. But Herman came and attacked.” He grits out, taking in a slow, deep breath. His hands shake from remaining anger. Deep breaths.

The Legion is silent, each looking at one another, then Frank speaks up. “Yah, that’s literally what I just said you old shit.” Julie slaps his head, Frank hisses in pain. “The fuck?!”

“Man up for a minute dude!” She hisses back. Susie lets out a small smile, rubbing her tear tracks away.

Evan ignores the insult and pinches the bridge of his brow. “Typical.” He looks at the lot of them, they avoid his gaze. Too embarrassed. 

“This is why you don’t let some kids do a man’s job.” He says, adjusting his menacing mask, turning around and walking towards the double doors of the entrance. As he passes by the messy remains of nearby debris, Evan waves over the Wraith, who walks behind him like a camouflaged shadow.

When they leave Frank jumps up to yell at Evan. Anger coloring his cheeks, but Joey grabs his hand. Frank whips his head to glare at the taller teen. “Wha-!”

“It’s not worth it, dude.” Joey shakes his head. He stares into Frank’s eyes, guilt, and understanding written across his face.

The leader of the rag-tag group of misfits yanks his hand away. He growls and stomps up to his ‘room’. The rest of the group stays, this isn’t the first and it definitely won’t be the last tantrum the older teen throws. A storage room closet greets him, graffiti littering the walls and a rag of sheets lay on the floor as a makeshift bed. He throws himself onto it with a grunt. It doesn’t feel comfortable, but the shitty thing in the sky gave them this. It obviously doesn’t know what they could use. It’s better than nothing. He guesses.

His face is red with embarrassment at failing another adult, and Frank shuts his eyes. Thoughts of the nerdy pencil pusher cross his mind, lips glossy with spit and cum. The way the collared piece covered his neck, those cute bunny ears, and that fucking face.

Ormond is filled with a hushed silence. The pittering of snowfall is the only sound to be heard.  
~~~  
The walk back is quiet. The crunch of snow fills the space between them

The duo passes through the snow-covered, run-down ski lodge, and into the Autohaven Wreckers scrap-yard. Piles of old cars without any wheels stacked upon each other. The smell of rust and oil permeates through the air. The Shop’s wind chimes drift softly in the wind, notes light and airy.

“Why do you want him so badly?” The Wraith says softly, settling behind his companion.

Evan comes to a stop, grip tight on his weapon. He gazes upon the multicolored cars, the small gas station. The smell is familiar to him, brings up old memories he tried to forget.

Wraith watches him. Evan’s big hulking form moves in with the deep breaths he takes. It’s not like him to be this attached. Yes, most of the time he’s in the trials, Phillip will let the little survivors go. But he had stopped doing that when that thing threatened to get rid of his existence. This may be purgatory or whatever. He doesn’t want to know what is beyond this. Maybe he deserves this for all the innocents he’s killed, but that doesn’t explain why Evan wants this survivor.

The silence stretches on. Evan to stubborn to talk, and Phillip quietly waiting out his patience.

A beat passes.

Finally, the lumbering man speaks. “It’s none of your business.” Evan looks back over his shoulder, eyes piercing through the hole of his mask.

Phillip sighs. Of course, he wouldn’t get a straight answer from this mule of a man. The lanky killer shifts and focuses on a yellow crushed car. He sees the faded colors and rust. Glowing eyes scan and land on the trunk, crusted amber liquid dripped down. A memory of finding an innocent. Bloodshed.

They won’t get any happiness here. They don’t deserve any happiness.

“That...thing. Won’t allow it. It’s just making you forge a connection to leech off of you when it tears it away.” He utters, gaze locked on the crusted liquid on the vehicle.

Another beat of silence. Phillip is wondering if he had even said that out loud.

Evan walks off. His form disappears within the stacks of broken vehicles. Phillip is still locked in an unfocused gaze when the Entity comes and tells him it’s time.

He gets whisked away in a cloud of smoke.

~~~  
_It was a struggle to be under his father's harsh upbringing. But it was worth it when he became the man he is today. Evan was his father's, right-hand man. When workers were out of line he was sent to talk with them._

_This was how the world worked and he thrived in these conditions. No room for error, only time for the betterment of the company. To be a man his father was proud of. To rule with an iron fist._

_There were times when it became too much. The stress and pressure. The workers becoming unreliable and distant. His father's declining mental health. The slow shift away from the coal industry further pushed them to their inevitable state._

_But then_ He _came to work. They were running short on workers, the promise of more fulfilling prospects made them flock away. The workload was rough on those who remained. He was a normal man working to sustain himself just like any other. This man blended in, did his job right, and didn’t protest against the more questionable demands Evan gave him._

_Then it happened._

_Maybe it was the stress, maybe it was the hot air, but whatever it was; it happened._

_He fucked the smaller man. The worker was asking something, something about the whereabouts of a certain tool, Evan can’t recall. But he can recall how tight the man was, how his moans were out of anguish but tapered into those of pleasure. How he clawed and marked the man, his frustrations and the toll of being under the thumb of his father made him plow into the newbie like he was just a wet hole to fuck._

_When he was finished he threatened the newbie into silence. The man didn’t say anything, cheeks flushed red and stained with tears. Cock drooled come onto the floor._

_It was supposed to be a one-time thing. He had gone to a local brothel and tried to sleep around with the women. He didn’t perform well. It’s not that he’s shy, the women didn’t do anything for him._

_Sex between two men was a taboo, Evan knew about. And yet he couldn’t get the way the newbie sounded out of his head. The way their bodies melded together in the hot room. He needed a release and sought it out._

_The newbie really tried to make sure it didn’t happen again. Avoiding Evan whenever necessary. Walking the other way, forsaking eye contact, but Evan was the boss. After his father of course. When Evan called the man to his office, he saw the color rushing to his cheeks._

_He was addicted._

_Then his father finally snapped. There was no reasoning with him. Evan carried out each and every command with sharp focus and determination. The cries of his workers as they were blown apart and trapped in the mines didn’t affect him._

_He let the newbie go, but not without making sure he wouldn’t forget a man like Evan._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inb4 the Archives come out and say Evan had a family of 4.


	20. Friends!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claudette misses her best friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIKE ITS THREE CHAPTERS!!! HAHAHHAHHA
> 
> Now I am burnt.

The Hillbilly zooms right by her, she barely jumped out of the way from being torn in two. She continues running, mind elsewhere while the trail rages on. Claudette feels the heat from the killer as he gets closer and she slams the pallet down right on his face. 

The killer groans and Claudette feels bad. For only a moment, then she’s back to running and back to thinking about other things.

Mainly about Dwight.

Claudette crouches nearby a giant basin filled with liquid. The green container complements her muddy green apron and she can blend in more easily. Out of sight, and she calms her breathing as The Hillbilly limps nearby. A locker is opened, then slammed closed quickly. She can hear the frustrated noise of anger from the killer. She doesn’t move. Her breaths are very short and soft. She wills him away, and by mere chance, the killer zooms off towards a generator that’s been completed. She sighs in relief.

Stealthily making her way towards the Thompson house, weaving through big stalks of corn, the botanist finds an unlit totem. She hums and begins to cleanse it. The methodical shifting of her hands as she unties each tightly clenched knot is calming. 

Dwight filters through her head again. The anxious man. Her best friend.

That idiot. She’s an idiot. While Dwight is an adult, in a place like this realm, she shouldn’t have left him alone. Despite respecting his wishes, she could’ve been a few feet away from him while he did his damn business. Maybe he would still be here. Instead of...wherever he is.

A scream echoes across the whole cornfield. A tug and the totem is cleansed. The skulls roll away, and candles fall to the ground. She continues her trek to the house. The building is aged and has probably seen better years. Wood rotten in places and cracks littered in the foundation and walls. She heads up the concrete stairs into what she believes is the main hall, but it’s to run down to make an educated guess. Past the little divot where shoes may have been stored long ago, and up the creaky wooden stairs onto the second floor. She sees a generator being worked on. By Jane Romero.

Claudette makes her way to the gen, Jane greets her with a soft “Hello” and she responds back. The air between them is filled with raw determination, the pistons on the generator began to get louder and louder as they progress at a rapid pace. A loud boom and the whole place ripples. Someone was sacrificed. Claudette feels guilty for using whoever was on the hook as bait, but it’s a given in this place. Many would give up to make sure others would survive. She is a prime example of that most of the time. Not like Dwight.

Dwight always gives himself up when the situation arises. She worries about every time he comes back from that place. Self-sacrificing idiot.

The generator explodes in a shower of sparks and smoke, she flinches back and gives Romero an apologetic look. The T.V Host just gave a strained smile, the sound of a chainsaw whirring and rapidly approaching clear in the air. They both hustle, twisting wires, reconnecting lose ones, twisting bolts and the generator is completed. The sirens of the exit gates blare across the whole area.

They rush downstairs when the killer meets them. They all freeze. Breath held as time ticks on. Claudette rushes to the side, this makes the killer lock onto her and she runs off. The killer limps after her, leaving Jane surprised a stock-still.

“Get the door open Jane!” She hollers, rushing out the back of the house and to a nearby pallet as the Hillbilly revs his chainsaw. Jane gets going, looking back at her fellow survivor. She gets to it in time to slam it down when the chainsaw cuts through the wood like warm butter. The remains clatter against the ground and Claudette races away from the killer hounding her trail. The killer revs his chainsaw again, Claudette does something only reckless people do.

She runs towards the killer as he does so. It makes the Hillbilly flinch in surprise, not expecting a meek survivor to rush head-on. He jerks away, but the speed of the tool makes him zoom away and slam into a nearby wall. His frustrated groan rings clear and the botanist smiles to herself.

Claudette runs to the gate, it's metal doors open and Jane is waiting for her there. She’s the only one there. Her other two survivors are gone. Sacrificed. The chainsaw is loud, screeching her ears as it gets closer. She locks eyes with Jane. The chainsaw tears through her back, blood spraying everywhere as she chokes and falls to the ground.

Jane steps forward but is stopped by Claudette's watery croak. “G-go!” The botanist coughs up blood and phlegm. The sticky liquid lands on the ground in a wet splat. The ground glows a confusing molten color when she blinks the ground looks the same as always. It must have been the bloodloss getting to her. Jane hesitates for a moment, grimaces then leaves out the gate at off into the distance. Her figure disappears into the lush forest. Claudette groans in misery as the Hillbilly lugs her onto his shoulder and towards a nearby hook. The walk there is painful, each limping step the killer takes aggravates her open wound making blood flow out more and more. The edges of her vision blacken and she is hefted onto a hook mercilessly. Her hoarse screams ring out. She’s alone.

The entity comes for her quickly. The claws dug into her soft flesh as her last scream is cut off. Her conscious blips out as she feels lifted into the air, weightless.  
~~

When she gets back, her head is all fuzzy. Whispers cling to her senses, but the words are too vague and hard to understand. She blinks and everything is right for the moment. Claudette digs into her personal stash, bring an Emergency medkit and a flashlight. In case Dwight is out there suffering from anything. She goes to stand up and heads into the forest. 

As she passes the campfire, the others are talking amongst each other. Looking very tense and paranoid. She can’t, mother, hen them now, she has a friend to search for. She can’t give up now.

The woods are always off. In a way, they lack a natural life that makes them... _them_. There is no birdsong, no shuffling of leaves brushing against each other. There is wind, but it feels like something is blowing it on them. Fake. The trees all look similar, tall and unnatural.

Claudette continues on, brushing aside tall grass to peak if Dwight had managed to hide in them. Shining her flashlight upon the canopy, eyes look glow upon the light. Yellow reflects back. Crows.

The botanist shudders. She continues onwards, the crows watch her every movement. Trees. Bundles of tall grass. And more Trees.

Then a snap of a branch ahead of her makes her focus on the noise. “Dwight!” She calls out, hope filling her legs and making her run ahead. “Dwight you jerk! How could you…” She stops.

The Hillbilly’s pinprick eyes stare at her.

Her body freezes, adrenaline coursing through her body. She never met another killer outside the trials but knew it happened. She trusts Dwight and this further cements it.

The killer reaches out to her, timid and afraid to spook her.

Claudette runs away anyways. 

When the light of the campfire gets bright. She slows to a walk, she glances behind her every so often to make sure she didn’t lead a killer here. As soon as she sets foot within the perimeter, Meg runs up to her. Tears running down her eyes.

Mother hen mode activates and she holds the runner in her arms.

“Claudette there’s--its-bad-Nea” Meg mumbles incomprehensible gibberish. 

“Calm down Meg.” She soothes. “What’s wrong?”

Meg takes a moment to breathe. Wipes the tears off her face. Then she says something that chills her to her core.

“Nea and Feng are missing. They haven’t come back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot? if you mean a fucking sticky note that was torn apart and glued together. then yes. there is a plot.  
> I'm making this up as I go.


	21. Glow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight: Let me die.
> 
> Shape: ...no
> 
> Dwight: And I oop--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKrrrrT!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> _Nyoom!_

Dwight lays on the bed. It seems like every inch of his skin is throbbing in pain. Purple colors blend with his pale skin. His left hand is practically useless now. The tendons are slashed, blood a dark crust and smattered against the old bedsheets. His right hand is tied to the bedpost, wrist rubbed raw with friction from all of his struggling. It sucks. This isn’t great at all.

Humming a meaningless tune, Dwight tries to get any movement out of the useless hand. It gives a feeble twitch and pain racks through his person. He shouldn’t have grabbed the stupid, fucking knife. It’s not like he can amount to anything. Especially against _him_. The man is a literal serial killer and built like a Greek god. Dwight’s soft body doesn’t have as much power as the killers in this realm. But, he shouldn’t feel so bad. At least Michael has only one eye left. Dwight feels smug satisfaction warm him, slowly washing away the dreary mood he was in. There was screaming, and blood. But he is proud of doing something. Like stabbing a well known serial killer’s eye out.

Granted, it was the one that was already damaged, but an eye for an eye and all that jazz.

The damaged hand aches as he chuckles. Another sorry attempt for movement makes the pseudo-leader cringe. Dwight looks at the hand-tied tightly to the wooden post. It appears Michael had been prepared for the long run. He supposes that it was only natural, given his relentless pursuit to kill Laurie. Whatever. The rope was knotted tightly against the wooden post of the bed frame. While it may look decrepit and old, it is really sturdy. He should know because he spent hours pulling and kicking at the post and it didn’t break. Not even an additional chip or crack within the woods fibers. Nothing. It made Dwight’s stomach drop. Being tied meant no escape. No escape meant being Michaels plaything. Being a killer’s plaything meant nothing good, that’s for sure.

After Michael had his share of fucking, and breeding Dwight so much that it was uncomfortable, he was called away. As he was leaving, Michael stopped at the open doorway and stared at Dwight. His eyes took in the many marks he left, the semen that still spilled out of the survivor’s ass. Then he had made eye contact with Dwight. Taking in the sadness pooling behind the thick-framed glasses, the dry tear tracks, and the abused plump lips. Satisfaction trills inside the evil monster, the actions of his deeds don’t weigh heavily upon his shoulders. If anything, it encouraged him to do it again. But it was time to fulfill his other desires. So with a silent inhale, the scent of sex, and blood prominent in the room. He left, figure disappearing into the darkness

A peculiar thing was when Michael came back, the bastard had a new outfit. So he wasn’t the only one receiving new outfits. A relief that’s for sure. It means he’s not that special like he had always known. A patient's gown flowed down from Michael’s broad shoulders, and black boxers clung snuggly against that plump ass. A medical IV hung loosely from where it’s embedded within the skin. Small drops of blood leak out of the tube. Dwight cringes every time he looks at it. Although every article of clothing was new, the mask had stayed the same. Michael looked like an escapee from a mental institution. Exactly like the stories Laurie had told him.

Now the kicker! The insane bitch had taken off his mask. Which, the man had no real reason to do so. The key defining aspect of what identifies Michael’s psychotic break. Shucked off. Like it was nothing. Sure, Dwight had been certain he would keep it on. The survivor did tug it off in a fit of rage to expose the cowardly man hiding behind the mask. Yet. Michael didn’t. He came through the door, blood splattered around his gown like some sort of trendy glitter, and watched Dwight’s restrained form for a few moments. The man’s breathing began to increase. The mask came off soon after a brief moment where their eyes met. Being pounced on was a new experience altogether for Dwight. The fast movement startled the poor survivor. Michael didn’t care. The killer’s excited hands roamed over him. Like he thought Dwight was going to disappear. Which was unfortunate. The survivor was sure the Entity would call him back in order to place him back into a trail. However, It didn’t. As for Michael, for the lack of a better word, he was very passionate during that session of hardcore fucking. Dwight had come so much he felt like he was dying. His dick hurt and all he could do when an orgasm barreled through him were to cry as his dick let out pathetic drops of semen onto the bed.

And the killer hasn’t gotten bored of him. That was surprising. Dwight considers himself normal at best, and downright boring at his worst. The anger Dwight had used to lash out appears to strengthen Michaels's attachment to him. Leaving the survivor to spend around a month in captivity(or what is equivalent in this messed-up place) with a silent killer who just stares and stabs. It was unsettling. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop and to be killed. However; nothing besides the sex and odd displays of affection occurred. The days began to blur together. Lust and fear mixed and combined into a cocktail that left him more delirious than the homemade moonshine he had that caused all of this in the first place.

Dwight shudders as more of the Shape’s seed leaks out of his sloppy hole. A light curl of pleasure tries to make itself known, but Dwight is quick to dispel any positive feeling. It’s what got him into this situation in the first place.

The Entity continues to call Michael, much to the killer’s annoyance, and Dwight’s relief. This leaves Dwight with time to himself. Time to rest, to heal... Time for his thoughts. He wonders what would have happened if he put more effort into his life. Would he be in this position? Would he have a better job? Would his situation with his family be better?

Big, fat tears slide down his cheeks, and ugly sobs wreck his being. His thoughts swirl becoming too much and getting crueler. Why couldn’t he be better? Maybe this is his fault. **He deserves this.** The quakes his body gives stirs up pain which makes him cry harder. He lies on the old bed and stares at the peeling wallpaper. The flowers remind him of what he’s missing. The feel of sunlight on his skin in the morning. The smell of coffee. He wants to escape. From Michael, from the trials, from the Entity. 

If he can escape, he wants to just sleep. Sleep and sleep. In this place, there are no dreams, only the inky void of the Entity. The whispers drifting from the void always follow him when he wakes up from his nap. Words tear him down, striking in places where he is weak. But Claudette is usually there for him, she would let him lay his head down on her lap, and hum. The song makes the harsh words stop, and he is able to forget again.

The squeak of the floorboards alerts the leader of _him_. Dwight stills, heart racing as the heavy footsteps come closer to him. The person's breathing is quiet, almost too quiet, but Dwight can hear them. A calloused hand rubs across his thigh, pressing into each bruise and cut that paint his skin. Dwight groans, the pain is small, but the presence of this man makes him feel heavy. The dark feeling is starting to claw his insides, the words are harsh noise in his head. **Coward.**

The press of lips against his mouth. **Weak.** The strong hands spread his thighs open, a weight settles in between. **Good for nothing.** He is taken, pleasure sparks in his aching body when the dick hits his prostate. **Slut.** A calloused hand wraps tightly around his dick, stroking fast. His back arches as he comes. **Whore.** Hot warmth floods his insides.

Dwight is brought back into the world of the living when a hand brushes his tears away. He peers up into the icy blue eye, the dirty blonde locks frame his face. Dwight looks away. Michael doesn’t like that, as he clamps his hand on Dwight’s face. Forcing him to look at the man above him. He leans in, nipping the survivor’s lips. Dwight opens up, body used to it. A low, pleased rumble from Michael is all he gets before that hungry mouth devours him.

Like clockwork, the dark unintelligible whispers of the Entity calls Michael. Michael ignores it, he gets more aggressive in the kiss. Dwight is starting to feel light-headed from the lack of air. He groans into the kiss, Michael breaks the kiss to let him breathe. He begins to attack his neck. The Shape bites into an old mark, re-opening it. Dwight moans the pleasure is starting to come back slowly.

The Entity becomes angry, It forcibly grabs Michael. The long limbs dig into flesh. Dwight squeaks in surprise and begins to tug at the rope in fear. This hasn’t happened before. Mainly because the survivors were never around to see a killer disobey the Entity. Michael snarls, and grabs his knife, he slashes at the limbs. The knife cuts through them like butter. Orange fluid sprays out. A deafening screech echoes throughout the house, rattling his bones. More and more spider-like appendages appear from the ground, a hellish red glow lights the room. 

Michael grunts as they pierce through muscle, he slices wildly around him. The knife is quick and deadly in the air, pieces of the limbs litter the floor. As the limbs get cut in half two more sprouts from the wound. A large, more sharpened appendage erupts from the red on the floor. Micahel is too focused on the smaller ones to notice. Dwight sees the lethal point wind up and strikes home. The sound of tearing muscle and the splatter of viscera is loud in Dwight’s ears. Dwight stares wide-eyed at the Shape’s still-beating heart. Blood squirts from the arteries and splash against the bloody floor. Michael continues to fight even after being so wounded. His moves are sluggish as blood loss makes his arms dead weight. The killer coughs up blood, breathing heavily. Skin pale. He looks at Dwight, mouth moving to form words.

But the Entity calls forth another limb and drags him into the eerie light. A hand reaches out for the entrapped survivor.

The glow diminishes. Blood is still caked across the wooden floor. The remnants of the Entity’s limbs start to disappear into a cloud of black smoke. Dwight is left alone. Scared and shaken. Still tied to a bed, heart racing in his chest.

Minutes pass by. The silence of the old house is loud in his ears. Different now that the man who forced him here is gone. But for how long? Is it forever? When the survivors are pulled into the Entity it takes them around six hours to get back. But for a killer?

Dwight looks to the spot where the Entity emerged, angry as it was. Dark blood pools there. He looks at the foot of his bed. A glint of metal sticks out.

Michaels knife.

His foot stretches to touch it. The big toe only nudges it away. He lets a cry of frustration to slip past his lips. He has to get out. He stretches further, the dull aches mean nothing to him as he slides his foot over and grasps the knife with his toes.

Escape is so close.


	22. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OWO

Dwight’s bare feet pound against the harsh concrete. He is naked and sore, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Not when a chance like this is given to him. With the chef's knife in his one good hand, Dwight runs.

He runs, and runs, and runs. Past the neighborhood that is frozen in time. Blue and red lights flashing and lighting up his frantic face. There aren’t any walls that are featured in the main trials, something Dwight thought was interesting but couldn’t bother putting another thought on until he got out of here.

Soon pavement transitions into the forest floor that is common around this realm. His feet begin to get minor cuts from the rocks and various other foliage. He powers through. His legs are getting sorer easily from the inactivity that was forced upon him. Having his muscles cramp up is refreshing, Dwight hadn’t felt that in the time he’s spent in this hellhole. Maybe it was because he’s on the killer’s domain but now's not the time.

Crows caw loudly as he weaves past tree after tree. Their beady eyes take in his movement watching him run until his form disappears into the sea of oak.

Dwight’s legs give up about two hours into running away. They sort of just go stiff and his foot landed wrong. The leader in all of his naked glory, face planted into the ground. 

Groaning, Dwight made an attempt to get up on his feet. He manages to push through his exhaustion and continues with a light jog. He figures if he runs anymore he won’t be able to move at all and will be stuck in this in-between. He doesn’t want that. A hard definite _no_.

He fixes his glasses and looks around as trees continue to pass by. He wants to find Claudette. Her kindness is something he needs after being in the presence of a monster like him. Just her reassuring presence of a friend being there for him makes him kick his speed up a bit. Not only her but the others as well. He hopes they're fairing well.

He clenches the chef knife in his hand. The handle is worn from being held in a strong grip for countless of years. The knife shines in the never-ending moonlight, clean and sharp, but it has a long and cruel history behind it. Many innocents died at the hand of an insane fucker, the weight is heavy. Why did Michael give him an out? It was a big surprise. Surely, the Entity wouldn’t get rid of a killer like Michael, right? The man is a ruthless, cold killer! Efficient. Doesn’t talk at all, obsession driven. Perfect for this line of work, yet the Entity seemed really angry. Like it was tired of his shit. Did the Entity believe Michael wasn’t worth the effort anymore?

Who cares? Dwight picks up the pace of his jog. The fucker kidnapped, harmed, and raped you. You shouldn’t care. He deserves to disappear and never return. The weight in his hand burns.

The trees begin to get less numerous. A clearing is up ahead and Dwight gets excited. He’s almost close. This is the closest he will get to coming home and his eyes start to tear up.

Dwight stops at the edge of the clearing. The fake campfire that he's grown to love is gone. He steps forward, cupping his hands over his mouth. But a rustle from the woods across from him stops him. He quickly hides behind thick foliage, sets the chef’s knife on the ground, and parts the thick grass with his fingers to get a peak. His heart rate picks up, cold sweat running down his back. Dwight’s breath catches in his throat as a killer makes their way into the clearing.

It’s the Nurse. The killer floats about like a ghost. Her wheezing breaths echo across and Dwight grabs the chef's knife. He should run. Run and try to find his friend. Away from another killer. But his legs spasms and he grits his teeth at the ache. The Nurse settles down on the ground. Her legs are tucked under her nurse gown and then she starts to sob softly. Her shoulders shake, and the fabric covering her face begins to dampen with fresh tears. Dwight feels a twinge of sympathy. Some of these killers are victims too, but it doesn’t excuse any harm they caused to him and his friends.

Dwight shifts his weight, tossing an idea around in his head. She could be able to patch him up. Right? Unless the title given to her was totally unrelated. But what if she attacks him. Nea had told them all at how she strangled her for her Morrie. It was different. Most of the killers used their weapons to kill them personally. What if she tries to do that to him?

He looks at her pitiful form, at the shakes of her shoulders, and at the overall frailness this killer emits. What's the worst that could happen? Get killed? Wow. So scary. Not like it hasn’t happened more times than he can count.

Dwight makes up his mind. He grabs the knife and walks to the killer with the grace of someone who has died many times. He hides the knife behind his body, twisting his torso so it’s more concealed. He is naked after all.

The Nurse lifts her head, tilts it at his form. “...Andrew?” She says, voice hoarse.

Dwight is uncomfortable, he looks behind him and sees nobody. Who the hell is Andrew? “Um. I’m Dwight.” This is starting to seem like a bad idea. This killer seems to be stuck in a time that isn’t here. Maybe he should go?

The Nurse sits up straighter at his name. She dusts off her raggedy nurse gown. “Oh. I’m sorry. You reminded me of someone I knew.” She hums.

“Right.” Comes Dwight’s clipped reply.

The two stew in a silence that stretches on too long. Weezing gasps escape from the Nurse constantly. It sounds horrible. They linger in the air as Dwight fidgets when the Nurse looks at him. She takes in the battered form of Dwight. She hums and floats up. Startling Dwight and making him clench the weapon in his hand tighter.

“You poor thing.” She rasps. If her vocal cords weren’t damage, Dwight would be sure she would have a very pleasing voice. The kind that can reassure any scared patient. She lifts her hand up and teleports with a screech. Dwight stands there still tensed and confused. The killer just left him…. Does he leave?

Dwight stands there waiting. The air of the clearing caresses his naked body and his skin broke out in goosebumps. That’s right. He’s still in the killer territory and it wouldn’t be good to be caught naked. The leader makes his way back into the tall grass.

The clearing is quiet. There is no ambiance that would be there in the real world. Just plain nothing. It is still unnerving even after being in this realm for what can account for years. Time is irrelevant in this place. 

A shriek in the distance and the Nurse shifts into view. She hunches over, breath ragged with fatigue. She’s loud in the dead silence of the clearing. In her hand, she has a medkit. Oh, she did want to help. That’s nice. She looks around once she notices Dwight is gone. He steps out of the tall grass, her head snaps to the noise he makes.

“Oh good,” She faces towards him. “I was afraid you ran off”

Then she floats back to the ground, medkit in front of her. She opens the container and brings out some gauze and antiseptic wipes. She looks at Dwight once again.

Dwight fidgets. Then he inches his way forward. The Nurse waits patiently, medical supplies in hand. He settles before her. The ground bites into his skin.

The Nurse takes in all the damage done to his body. She eyes the hand that had been severely damaged. “Your hand.” She says. Dwight blinks, then lifts the dead weight. It twitches feebly, an ache so dull he can’t feel it anymore, then hovers it in front of her until frail, dirty hands gently hold it still. She hums “I don’t have an Anti-Haemorrhagic Syringe on me. I managed to pick this up when one of your friends was…” A pause. “You survivors are the only ones able to get it. All I can do is stitch it up.”

The tug of skin being stitched together always sends shivers down his spine. At first, when he had to close his own wounds, the feeling of the needle tugging and piercing his skin made him faint. He woke up back at the campfire. Jake told him he had been sacrificed. Talk about embarrassing. Now as the Nurse closes the shredded mess of his hand with professional precision, it's entrancing. It’s over in a few seconds. The gauze is wrapped tightly, blood began seeping into the cloth when it was reopened. Dwight tries to close it, but can only manage halfway before the stitches stretch and the pain increases.

“Please don’t break them. It would be a waste, Dear.” The killer rasps. She then pulls out a healing ointment and bandages. She waits. Dwight stares at her.

She speaks, “Do you want me to patch up all those small lacerations?” Her gaze lands to the initials etched into his skin. These are anything but small. They’re crusted and raw. Michael had liked to reopen them and lick the blood up. How he didn't bleed out he doesn't know. Most likely the Entity helped with that.

“Yes, please.” Dwight looks away when she places rubs the ointment onto the marking forced into his chest. The wounds start to feel numb, then the wounds close. A faint pink flesh is left behind. So much for getting rid of them. At least he can breathe without upsetting them now. They begin feeling itchy, so he goes to scratch at them. The Nurse stops him.

“Don’t scratch, they will get darker.” She scolds softly, gently rubbing in the ointment over each bite mark, and cuts from the knife he has. The bandages are plain, no hint of personality. It makes him feel a little bit bummed out. Only just a little though. 

Soon, all of his skin feels itchy. It’s highly annoying and he can hear the siren’s call for him to just scratch. Just a tiny bit. But he grits his teeth in a tremendous amount of self-discipline to not cave in and plus he didn’t want to know what would happen when the Nurse becomes annoyed at his disrespect.

“There. All done.” The Nurse’s voice sounds pleased. He can hear faint happiness from it. Dwight smiles, rubbing the back of his head.

“Uh. Thank you!” He grins sheepishly. The Nurse stares.

The silence is back. But it isn’t as as...awkward? Whatever. It was nice. Dwight sits for a bit, looking at the moon in the sky. Then he gets back up and wipes off the dirt that clings to his skin.

“I’ll...uh. Be going.” Dwight starts.

She continues to stare.

Dwight turns and begins walking in a direction. He hopes he can go back to their campfire.

As Dwight’s figure fades into the trees, the Nurse reaches out. “Goodbye, Honey.”

Soft sobs are swallowed by the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo. Like Ass is. 
> 
> **MHHHHM**


	23. OoOoh NooO!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight has always been a worrywart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo like, Merry crisis
> 
> *sees it's a day late*
> 
> Merry second Chrysler?
> 
>  
> 
> As always, I may be a born and raised English speaker; it doesn't mean I know how to write like one.

Dwight is worried. Granted, he always worried. Who wouldn’t? In a place like this.

Did this customer like that product? Is upper management happy with his results? Will his coworkers come and find him. Should he go for the save? Do they have N.O-E.D? Who is the killer?

During his time in the Entity’s realm, he has learned to calm down with his anxieties. Because why worry when you come back from death? Sure, he feels hollow every time he comes back from the void, and sure he feels like it’s pointless to continue. And Dwight’s thoughts become too much to the po---

Anyways, Dwight, right at this moment, is worried. It starts with a tickling in his chest, and his hands begin to sweat and his heart pumps faster.

No one is at the camp.

The fake crackling of wood is the only sound that greeted him when he arrived. No strumming of the guitar from Kate, no chatting of other survivors. Just the sound of wood burning. And the loud embrace of silence.

This... This only happened to him once. When he woke up and sought refuge at this camp. When he stumbled through many trees, he tripped over the forest floor, and when it all came crashing down that his coworkers betrayed him. The wound still fresh to this day. Dwight only had the fire and his thoughts to keep him company until fear incarnate came to him and whisked him away in a cloud of smoke.

His first encounter with the Trapper was not fun.

This entire place was never fun.

So Dwight stands there, the light of the fire bouncing off his pale skin. His eyes take in the space lacking the only thing keeping every other survivor sane in the Entity’s realm.

Life.

Sure, it was broken. With pieces stitched together with gauze and bloody trust for one another. It wasn’t perfect, and that’s what made it feel like home. A place where it gave his fellow survivors a moment's breath before any of them were taken to compete in a trial they don’t wish to be apart of.

Now it’s gone.

Maybe he’s being melodramatic, he hopes he’s melodramatic because he doesn’t want to face the fact if he’s all alone again. So, with a deep inhale, he calms his racing heart and begins searching around for anything that can tell him what happened. The surrounding woods area is bare, just meaningless copies of trees. There is no stuff lingering on the wooden log as usual. It feels empty, abandoned.

Would Claudette leave something in his cache? He wonders over to the area it's located at.

The first place he checks is his cache. While the Entity does gift them clothing items whenever It’s in the mood, the collection of items each survivor has is more important. It can be something life saving as an Emergency Medkit, or Alex’s toolbox(whoever that guy is?). Or, if they felt like it; they would annoy the killer with flashlights and firecrackers. Each survivor has different items and would gladly share if you have something to give back. It has led to some squabbles of who took what and each time a fight broke out it was mildly entertaining.

He rummages through all of his medkits, and toolboxes. There's no note explaining anything. Everything is there. No one had messed with it when he was away, and he feels warmth swell in his heart. To think they wouldn’t just go through his stuff right off the back. Next, he tries his other cache, this one filled with clothes. Well, it was filled with clothes. But ever since the Entity decided It wanted to torment Dwight it’s filled with scraps of clothing. And he actually liked those sweatpants and hoodie combo. He’s allowed some comfort in this place. But still no note, or anything to clue him in.

“Motherfucker.” Dwight grits, the stagnant air caresses his naked body and he shivers. He sneezes. The sound is loud in the survivor's clearing. A couple of crows caws reply. He hears the rustling of tall grass and quickly gets up. The chef's knife held in his good hand and hidden behind his body, as he turns to the source. More rustles, the footsteps sound heavy. Unlike the survivor's timid and cautious ones.

Dwight backs up behind a tree, a one closeby his. Eyes never straying from the source of the sound. And leans against the scratchy bark. The leaves continue rustling. His hand grips the handle painfully. Out steps a figure. One he is unfortunately familiar with.

The Trapper.

His hulking form trudges into the firelight. His tall mass of muscle is striking against the backdrop of trees. Dwight gulps, and his hand begins to ache as the splintered wood of the handle digs into his flesh. The deep breaths coming from the man makes his heart race. 

Dwight knew they could meet the other killers out in the forest, he lived to tell the tale. He didn’t know that they could come onto their side. He figured the Entity would physically block anyone of the killers from actually coming into their safe space. 

So that was a fucking lie.

The Trapper makes his way in the camp like he owns the place. He steps over the log they use as a resting place. He’s making his way closer to where Dwight is. Dwight tenses as those deep breaths dig up a steamy memory. The killer stops at his tree. HIS stash. How? Who told him? Did he?

The fucker probably found out from his watching. Dwight shivers, it could be from the air or the implications. It’s up for grabs. Whichever is the case, it's not pleasant.

The killer kneels and begins to sift through the scraps. Dwight feels miffed about this whole situation. Who does this shit head think he is? The handle makes his hand itch. It. It would be so easy. Just stab. And stab. **Stab.**

 

**Just go over and plunge the knife into his neck. He won’t know wha--**

 

A noise of triumph makes Dwight comes out of his train of thought. The Trapper pulls out a large scrap of fabric, the color, and material standing out in the forest setting.

It’s his hoodie. Well, what’s left of it. That one he practically lived in. He loved that hoodie. He did things in that hoodie. Things that are so tame now that he has come out of the deep end moaning.

So, why is the Trapper taking deep gulps of air with the fabric covering his face? Dwight waits.

A loud huff. The killer groans. Low and hoarse.

And again, Dwight watches the scene build up. He feels like he shouldn’t be seeing this.

Another groan, it sounds more gritty. The Trapper shifts his pants, the bulge there becoming prominent.

It clicks.

OH. Kinda freaky. He squints his eyes, his whole face sours at the thought. 

Dwight should leave. It doesn’t seem like any of the survivors are coming. They could be in a trial, but he doubts it. It all feels off, he can’t place his finger on it.

Carefully, the leader begins to move away from this intimate scene. The Trapper is too enraptured by Dwight’s smell, his puffs of air hot and needy. Dwight feels warm.

He’s a meter away from the killer. From the man who seemed to be the catalyst for all this shit. He doesn’t know if he can handle being in a trial against him. Knowing the Entity, he will absolutely be faced against him soon.

What does he do? Does he act as if nothing happened? Should he fall into the role he was placed in. The knife sings to him, his reflection stares back at him. Bruises and bandages cover him. He can’t pretend. He’s always had to and it felt wrong.

No, he doesn’t feel like doing that. For the first time in a while, it’s like he has control. Short as it might be, he wants to relish in it. Be devoured by it.

He’s scared if he goes back; back to meek and anxious Dwight, pushover and wallflower Dwight, he might _b r e a k._

Dwight sighs quietly, eyes checking back on the killer he avoided. He feels tempted to drive the knife in his own throat. Coming back from the void might calm the racing thoughts and erase the exhaustion in his body. Not to mention, mend all of his wounds.

He feet kick into pebbles, making a noise as it knocks over more rocks. He freezes, quick to hide behind a thick tree. He strains his ears, the hot breathing has ceased. Shit, the killer heard. But he doesn’t know it's you. 

Moments pass. Dwight’s ears continue to strain. Footsteps are getting closer to him. His hand begins bleeding. His whole body is tense, ready to spring to action. 

Those breaths go from hot and intimate to cold and predatory. He’s getting closer. Cold sweat trickles down his face. 

Dwight says fuck it and runs.

There’s a shout of surprise. But he pays no mind to it. He just runs, legs burning. The bandages tug on his skin, its uncomfortable and entirely irrelevant because when Dwight looks behind he stumbles in shock.

The trapper is giving chase. 

He’s running.

FUCKING RUNNING, WHATTHEACTUAL---!

The huge form of the killer is intriguing in fast motion. Dwight dodges a stray tree branch. The Trapper plows through.

Okay, so maybe Dwight is not as over this thing between as he likes to believe. Dwight begins to panic, weaving in-between trees. A swipe of air. He was almost taken away. The harsh pants of the killer homing in closer to him will forever haunt his nightmares. It seems like the Entity did grant them mercy if the killers have the ability to fucking run.

Don’tlookbackdon’tlookbackdon’tlook--

“DWIGHT!” The Trapper shouts.

Oh fuck, the tone of voice still makes him feel something. A hill surrounded by loose rocks gets into view. Dwight leaps up and lands on a flat rock, causing rocks from below it to slide down, slowing the Trapper. Cursing up a storm, the killer growls. Deep and angry, desperate. 

The leader of the survivors pays no mind, now is the time to make some distance. He hopes to another rock. He’s getting away pretty quickly, the tall killer is like a foal on its legs when he tries to power through this endeavor.

Dwight is at the top of the hill when he’s tackled down onto the grassy floor. His cry muffled by the twigs and dirt. NO! So close. How the hell!? He elbows hard into the Trapper’s nose. A loud crack rings out. 

“Fuck!” The Trapper grits. Hold on him loosening.

It’s enough. Dwight kicks out of the hold. Feral grunts escaping his mouth.

The survivor backs away, body tense and flighty. He just wants this to stop.

The knife hums to him, in his grip.

He shifts his stance as the Trapper gets up. The killer’s breathing hard from the run, body hunched over for another chase. Bloody flows down his broken nose and his eyes are manic.

“Dwight, I...I” The killer starts, not knowing to say

Dwight doesn’t know either. This all happened because of them talking in the first place.

A very tense silence settles between them. Dwight, looking at everywhere he can run to; The Trapper never looking away from him.

A bitter stalemate ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finna shoot and scoot on this work but like. It's almost done.
> 
> You know bi people, they suck at commitment lol!

**Author's Note:**

> UwU
> 
> Alexa play Queen- Don't Stop Me Now


End file.
